


Borrowing Sugar

by Fallen_Angel_Meg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Artist Castiel, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Dirty Talk, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Neighbors, Phone Sex, Phone Sex Operator Castiel, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 52,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9140041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallen_Angel_Meg/pseuds/Fallen_Angel_Meg
Summary: It's the moment every neighbor should have - the 'Borrow Sugar' moment. Dean would very much like to have that moment with his new neighbor, Castiel - if only he could ever get up to even speak a full sentence without freezing up and fleeing the scene. He just didn't picture it playing out the way it actually did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Supernatural Prompt Challenge [December 2016]  
> Theme: Employment AUs  
> Prompt: Sex Line Operator ~ "I have a very cute neighbor and very thin walls and one day I call you and err your moans are very synchronized with my neighbor’s"

It’s one of those nights. The kind of night that’s lonely and filled with sexual frustration. It’s so wrong - Friday nights should be anything but.  
  
Sighing in frustration, Dean turns off the TV that’s been serving as a poor excuse for entertainment. He’s gotta do something besides sit here and twiddle his thumbs or else he’ll go insane. If only he was up to going out to a bar to find someone to spend the night with. Hookups are fun and all – and not too hard to come by – but something’s changed about them. Instead of going home sated, his last few one night stands left him feeling empty.  
  
It doesn’t help matters when he really only has interest in one person specifically. His neighbor, the beautiful artist with eternal sex hair and killer blue eyes is all he ever thinks about these days. But there’s no way he’ll ever get anywhere with Castiel because, despite considering himself a smooth talker, Dean goes completely blank around Cas. It’s sad.  
  
Maybe he should go out. There’s no way he’ll ever work up the nerve to talk to Cas, and there’s only so much _Casa Erotica_ and his hand can do to satisfy his appetite. Who knows who he’ll meet? Perhaps his soulmate or whatever is out at some bar looking for him too.  
  
He snorts to himself. Thinking like that’s a prime example that he spends too much time with Charlie. Nevertheless, it doesn’t stop him from reaching for his phone and dialing her up.  
  
“Dean! What’s up?” A breathless Charlie greets just before the last ring.  
  
He raises his eyebrows. “Uh, hey. You busy?”  
  
“Um,” there’s a burst of giggling and muffled noises, “Ah, yeah, sorry. Dorothy’s over for movie night.”  
  
Dean frowns. Of course Charlie would be spending time with her girlfriend on a Friday night, how could he forget? “Right – that’s right. Sorry, I didn’t mean –“  
  
“Dean,” Charlie interrupts with a light laugh, “It’s okay. Is something wrong?”  
  
Only how pathetic his love life is. “No, nothing’s wrong. Guess I was thinking about going out tonight. It’s… one of those nights.”  
  
Charlie hums sympathetically. Not too long ago, she knew exactly how these nights felt, which is why they always went out together to find prospects. Dean would bet his life that she’s thinking how grateful she is about being done with the dating scene. “You should! You never know; the love of your life might be –“  
  
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Dean growls, prompting a laugh from her.  
  
“I’m just saying, Dean. That’s how Dorothy and I met.”  
  
He sighs, letting his head fall back onto the couch. “I know. But no one sees me as anything more than that guy from the bar who’s only good for a quick fuck. I’m just – I don’t want to do that anymore, y’know?”  
  
“Hmm,” Charlie pauses as she thinks. “Oh! How about that cute, artist of a neighbor you have? What was his name again?”  
  
Dean blushes at the mere mention and gets to his feet, suddenly needing to walk around. “There’s no way you’re talking about Castiel.”  
  
Charlie snaps her fingers on the other end. “Yeah! Oh come on, Dean. You think I can’t see how you have the biggest crush on him?”  
  
“Even if I did – and I’m not saying I do – what do you expect me to do?” he asks incredulously as he continues pacing around his apartment.  
  
Charlie snorts. “I don’t know, talk maybe? Ask him if he wants to have a drink with you? Go for a walk? Ask him to draw you like one of his French girls? The possibilities are truly endless.”  
  
“We haven’t even talked that much,” he mumbles. It’s a little sad to think about, actually. Castiel may have only moved in recently, but every time Dean thinks to talk to the guy, he freezes up. The few times they’ve interacted in the hallway outside their apartments, Dean can only get out a few words before his flight instinct takes over.  
  
“What a better time to start than now? Go borrow some sugar – you _are_ neighbors.”  
  
Dean sighs. “I can’t _borrow sugar_ tonight because I guarantee the sugar I want from him is drastically different than the sugar you’re thinking of. I want to do this right, but I can’t if my mind is stuck on the naughty kind of sugar.”  
  
“Okay, we’re done corrupting sugar now. But it’s that bad, huh?”  
  
He groans. “You have no idea. I’ve gone through my entire porn collection about fi –“  
  
“I’m gonna stop you right there, Winchester. I love you, but I don’t need details,” Charlie interrupts, but sounds amused nonetheless.  
  
He sighs. “So we’re back to square one – what should I do?”  
  
The line is quiet for a minute as they both think, and just when Dean’s about to apologize for interrupting her night, Charlie speaks up. “Have you ever tried calling one of those sex lines?”  
  
Dean crinkles his eyebrows, halting in his tracks. “Phone sex? People still do that?” His only experience with calling a sex line was when he lost a bet with Sam when they were younger, probably middle school. The loser’s punishment was to steal their dad’s credit card and prank call a sex line. It was a short phone call when the woman realized he was drastically underage. John wasn’t amused.  
  
Charlie snickers. “Oh yes, it’s a thriving business. Haven’t you heard they’re like therapists with perks?”  
  
Dean chews on his lip. Is he really that desperate to call some phone sex operator? “I don’t know, Charlie.”  
  
The muffled sound of a second voice flits over the line followed by more giggling and Dean knows his time is up. “Sorry, Dean. Dorothy’s getting antsy so I have to let you go.”  
  
He nods even though she can’t see him. “Yeah, no problem. Thank Dorothy for sharing you a little bit tonight. Sorry again for interrupting.”  
  
Charlie giggles again. “I’ll tell her. And stop apologizing and just go do what you know is the right thing to do! Talk to you tomorrow!” Dean rolls his eyes fondly, saying his goodbyes before hanging up. And he’s alone once again. He glances towards the front door, wondering if maybe he should just nut up and go knock on Cas’ door. He shakes his head, walking back to the couch and flopping down.  
  
Turning the phone in his hands, he wonders if maybe Charlie has a point. It might not be so bad talking to someone while getting some release out of the deal. Plus, he’s never tried phone sex before. It could be fun. It sucks he’d still be ‘hooking up’ with a total stranger, but it’s a helluva lot better than dragging himself to some sticky bar or embarrassing himself in front of Cas.  
  
Decided, he looks up sex line numbers on his phone. He scrolls through the various options, pausing when a particular name catches his eye. _Angel Voices_. Huh. Well, it’s different from other names that have almost made Dean reconsider calling altogether. Without too much thought, he taps on the number and brings the phone to his ear. It rings once before a perky voice picks up, taking Dean by surprise.  
  
“Thank you for calling _Angel Voices_! What kind of angel were you looking to speak with today?”  
  
Dean’s mouth struggles to form words. Shit, isn’t this part automated? “I, uh.” He’s about ready to hang up before the girl on the other end giggles.  
  
“I’m sorry. Customers are usually thrown off with hearing a real person, but we’re fairly new and still developing our automated system.”  
  
Dean laughs uneasily. “It’s okay. I just… don’t really know how this works.”  
  
“Not to worry! We’re you looking to speak with a male or female companion?”  
  
Dean thinks for a moment. There’s one person he’d like to imagine if he’s going to do this. “Um, guy.”  
  
“Great! Were there any special requests our angel can fulfill for you?” the woman asks. Dean smirks at how cheesy it sounds, but there’re probably some kinky bastards out there who get off on corrupting angels.  
  
“Not really. I’m just a basic kind of guy, I guess.”  
  
There’s a flurry of typing at the other end. “Not a problem at all. Now, I just need your payment information and I’ll connect you with one of Heaven’s best!”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes but digs out his wallet nonetheless. After reading off his credit card information, he waits nervously while the nameless woman connects him to his mystery ‘angel’. He nearly jumps out of his skin when a sultry feminine voice whispers to him _“Say hello.”_  
  
“Um, hi?”  
  
“Hello, this is Dmitri. What’s your name?” A deep, gravelly voice greets and holy shit, if it doesn’t send shivers down Dean’s back. Although… does it sound a little familiar? “Hello?” the voice prompts again, sounding confused.  
  
“Ah, sorry. Hi. Um,” he shakes himself out of his thoughts. He feels a little weird giving out his name to whoever this stranger is, as if they’d know who he is and judge him. Spread word that Dean Winchester is lonely and horny enough to call a sex line. “Actually, I’d prefer not to give my name, if that’s okay?”  
  
There’s a pause that lasts a little too long and Dean’s starting to wonder if maybe he’s supposed to give his identity, but Dmitri speaks up before he can backtrack. “N-no, of course. We can do whatever you want.”  
  
Dean lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “Thanks. So, uh, I’ve never really done this before…”  
  
Dmitri chuckles lightly, though it’s not mocking in the least. “I figured. You sound nervous.”  
  
His cheeks warm. “That obvious, huh?”  
  
“It’s okay. To tell the truth though, I get the impression you don’t really need to call services like this. If anything, I feel like our roles should be reversed.”  
  
That makes Dean laugh. “Is that a backwards way of saying you think my voice sounds phone sex-ready? Are you actually a recruiter?”  
  
“More like you just have a _really_ nice voice I’d pay to hear,” Dmitri says smoothly.  
  
Dean snorts. “Well, you’re right. I guess I’ve never really needed to call these numbers before but… I have no one else to talk to.”  
  
“Is there something on your mind?” Dmitri asks. Dean bites the inside of his cheek. Is he really going to confide in a phone sex operator? But it’s not like he’s ever going to call this number again…  
  
“Do you love anyone?”  
  
He instantly slaps a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. Holy shit – did he really just say that? To a _phone sex operator_? Stunned silence stretches between them and Dean wants nothing more than to be swallowed into a deep, dark void.  
  
“Not at the moment, no,” Dmitri finally answers him. Dean slowly lets his hand fall from his mouth, clearing his throat awkwardly.  
  
“I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.”  
  
A soft chuckle. “It’s alright. I’ve had stranger questions asked of me, but you’re the first to ask that one in particular. I applaud your originality.”  
  
Dean snorts, rubbing the back of his neck out of embarrassment but he can’t help the small smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry it’s just – I’ve been trying out this whole dating thing and it’s not really going well. Guess I wanted to know if I was, in fact, the only person who was incapable of finding it.”  
  
Dmitri hums. “You’re definitely not alone in that respect. Try being a phone sex operator – it makes dating even more enjoyable.”  
  
Dean grimaces. “I bet people take that real well.”  
  
There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “About as well as you’d expect. I’ve been told ‘Pining’ is my new middle name since it’s all I do anymore.”  
  
“I’m starting to understand the feeling,” he admits. Good thing Charlie isn’t here or else she’d have a field day with the confession. Because he is, in fact, pining over Castiel. Whatever.  
  
“ _You’re_ pining over someone? A voice like that doesn’t need to pine,” Dmitri says, almost sounding offended.  
  
“Yeah well,” Dean sighs, running a hand through his hair, “You do when the guy is respectable and way out of your league. If everyone else sees me as nothing but a good lay, what would he see in me? He deserves better than me anyway.”  
  
“You’ll never know if you don’t find out.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. Is this guy in cahoots with Charlie? “I could say the same for you. Sounds like you’re in the same boat.”  
  
Dmitri laughs humorlessly. “I’d have to disagree. I’m fairly sure the guy I like either thinks I’m weird or hates me. He barely ever looks at me or says more than three words to me at a given time. Besides, he’s probably one of the most perfect human beings I’ve ever seen – and believe me, I know what perfection is supposed to look like. But even if by some miracle he ever did talk to me, he won’t want someone who’s such a failure at his career that he needs to be phone sex operator to make rent. So I’d say pining is my only option here.”  
  
Dean lets out a low whistle. “We’re both fucked then, aren’t we?”  
  
“Perhaps,” Dmitri sighs. “Too bad it’s not by them though,” he adds casually, sending a shiver down Dean’s back. He’s almost certain Dmitri didn’t mean to, but now all he can think about is being with Cas. Touching him. Tasting him. Hearing him moan Dean’s name. _Borrowing sugar._  
  
“Maybe we can though,” he suggests quietly, not completely sure of where he’s going with this.  
  
“You mean you want us both to run to these unattainable men and just… have them?” Dmitri asks slowly.  
  
“I wish,” Dean snorts. “But no, I mean – what if just for tonight we… pretend we do have them?” There’s silence for a moment and Dean’s starting to think he said something wrong.  
  
“You underestimate yourself. I bet this ‘respectable’ guy would melt at the sound of your voice.” Dean blushes at the shift in tone. Dmitri’s voice is noticeably darker than when they were just talking. Hell, it even sounds different from when he answered the phone. Dean’s finding it a little hard to form words, but Dmitri continues talking anyway. “And there’s no way a voice like that doesn’t have a pair of beautiful lips. God – I can’t even imagine how words taste on your tongue.”  
  
Dean swallows thickly. This guy really knows what he’s doing. Dmitri’s only getting started and Dean’s already half hard in his jeans. And the best part? He can completely picture these words dripping from Cas’ mouth. He’s not sure what it is, but he’s not going to think too hard about it. He called this number so he wouldn’t have to think.  
  
“I’d… I’d want you to,” Dean says, cringing at himself. He’s definitely not as smooth and sexy as Dmitri is with this whole thing. Maybe he could be though if the guy wasn’t so damn good.  
  
“Yeah?” he purrs in response. “I bet you like teasing your lovers, don’t you? Like to get them to where they’re pleading for you take them, make them wait until the last excruciating second before you give them what they want. But not tonight.”  
  
Dean closes his eyes, letting his head lull back on the couch. “W-what are you going to do?”  
  
“I’m going to worship those lips – so soft and full. They’re made for kissing,” Dmitri says in a voice that makes Dean suspect the guy Dmitri’s imagining him as has some amazing lips. “I’d lean in close and trace them with the tip of my tongue. And whenever you tried to kiss me, I’d pull just out of reach and until you put your head back once again.”  
  
He groans quietly. “Not fair.”  
  
“Completely fair,” Dmitri responds, and Dean can hear the smirk in the bastard’s voice. “Because when our lips finally do touch, it’d be soft and slow. It’s drawn it out as long as possible before our mouths part and our tongues meet. We’d explore each other’s mouths slowly, taking our time because I know the kind of kisses you’ve had before. Wet and sloppy and rushed. And while those kisses are fun, a man like you deserves someone who holds onto every second of your touch. Someone who wants to _feel_ you.”  
  
A small lump forms in Dean’s throat because _damn_ , he’s… he’s right. It’s like this guy can see into Dean’s mind and read exactly what he desires. He imagines Cas is the type of guy who’d treat his lovers with the same tenderness and attention. “Y-yes. And your lips, your tongue – they’d feel so amazing.”  
  
Dmitri hums. “It wouldn’t take long for me to get addicted to kissing you. And I just can’t help nipping at your bottom lip because how can I resist? It’s perfectly full and bitable.”  
  
Dean nips softly at his bottom lip and it only adds to the heat forming low in Dean’s stomach. His hand trails down to his crotch where he presses the heel against his now throbbing erection and a breathy moan escapes him. Amazing. He’s completely hard just from hearing how Dmitri – no, how _Cas_ would kiss him.  
  
“Oh, you like that don’t you? Like when you’re not doing the biting for a change?” Dmitri asks, sounding genuinely intrigued.  
  
Dean nods. “Yes. I… I like it.”  
  
“Bet you’d like when they bite your neck too. Maybe even along your jaw? Suck marks into that beautiful skin before soothing them over with their tongue? My tongue?”  
  
Dean presses even harder against his crotch. “Fuck, yes.”  
  
Dmitri breathes out, the first sign that perhaps Dean’s reactions are affecting him too. Unless it’s part of the act, that is. “Where are you?” he asks suddenly, taking Dean a little off guard.  
  
“My living room,” he answers hoarsely.  
  
“Go to your bedroom. And when you get there, take off your shirt. Nothing else.”  
  
Dean doesn’t hesitate to get to his feet and hurry down the hall and into his bedroom. He closes the door behind him even though he’s alone, but it adds a weird sense of privacy. He sets the phone down while he sheds his flannel and the t-shirt he was wearing underneath. He looks down longingly at his jeans, wanting to shed those too because his cock is pressing almost painfully against the confines of the fabric, but he’s wasn’t told to remove them. If he’s going to do this phone sex thing right, he wants it to be as realistic as possible. Besides, what’s the rush?  
  
When he settles himself on the bed, he picks up the phone and presses it back to his ear. “Okay, I’m on my bed and my shirt is off.”  
  
“Good,” Dmitri says lowly. “Now, where would you want me?”  
  
“My lap,” Dean says a little too quickly, causing him to blush. He can’t help it though. The first time he saw Castiel’s thighs, he imagined how they would feel wrapped around his waist or straddling him.  
  
“Perfect,” Dmitri says, sounding satisfied. “Just the right angle for me to run my hands down your chest while I lean down to kiss you again. Maybe I’d brush my fingers over your nipples.”  
  
Dean closes his eyes, immediately bringing his free hand up to pinch at one of them and he groans. It’s something he never liked asking the people he’s been with to do. He wasn’t sure if they’d think he was weird for liking the sensation of someone touching them or flicking a tongue against. Maybe even bite…  
  
“Ah, that’s what I like to hear,” Dmitri drawls. “You’re so hard right now, aren’t you?”  
  
Dean lets out a breathy laugh. “Been that way since the first kiss.”  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Dmitri breathes out. “I... me too.” Dean’s not sure if he hears it correctly, but it almost sounds like Dmitri’s guilty. Is he getting as wound up as Dean is right now? Is he as hard as Dean is? Dean had the impression that phone sex operators don’t get off on these calls because that could be exhausting if they masturbated to every phone call they got.  
  
“You know what I’d do?” Dean asks, to which Dmitri hums in response. “I’d take off your shirt and trail my hands down your sides until they rest on your hips. And maybe I’d thrust up just a little. Drag myself against you through our jeans.”  
  
Dmitri lets out a muffled moan, as if he were trying to keep it in, before there’s a rustling sound. Is he taking off his shirt as Dean said? “Yes. I’d love grinding down on your lap. Feel your thick cock against mine.”  
  
Dean’s hand abandons his nipple to press against his crotch again, hips bucking up into the touch. “Shit – _yes_. C-can I take my pants off now? I’m dying here.”  
  
“ _Please._ ”  
  
Dean reopens his eyes, instantly dropping the phone to undo the button and zipper on his jeans. He lifts his hips as he pushes them down, kicking at the fabric until it falls off the bed. He glances down at his leaking cock, amazed words alone have done this to him. His eyes flicker back to the phone beside him and he brings it back to his ear. “They’re gone.”  
  
“Have you touched yourself yet?” Dmitri asks. Dean glances back down, his hand massaging at the skin around the base of his cock but not close enough to feel the sensation of the touch.  
  
“N-no.”  
  
“Good,” if Dean’s not mistaken – is that a smile in Dmitri’s voice? “Because like the kissing, I’m starting slow.”  
  
Dean inhales, moving his hand to grip his cock and exhaling shakily at the touch. He closes his eyes again and throws his head back, wondering how different Cas’ hand would feel instead of his right now. And as Dmitri wanted, he begins slowly stroking up and down, squeezing gently as he uses his thumb to swipe at the pre-come that’s pearling at the slit and spread it down his length.  
  
“Oh god,” he breathes out, nipping at his lip.  
  
“Yeah, just like that. Nice and slow,” Dmitri whispers. Dean keeps stroking himself, imagining that he’s staring into blue eyes while a different hand touches him. He’s so wrapped up in the image that he almost misses how Dmitri’s fallen silent.  
  
“C’mon, you gotta give me more. I’m dying here,” Dean whines, wanting to speed up but for some dumb reason, he prefers following Dmitri’s lead. Likes touching himself based on Dmitri’s descriptions or obeying even the smallest command. He’s never experienced anything like this. It’s always been him controlling the situation, but it’s nice that for once, it’s someone else taking the reins.  
  
“Do you have lube?” Dmitri asks hesitantly. Dean immediately leans over to his nightstand and pulls out the bottle.  
  
“I do now.”  
  
“Open it and pour some on your fingers. Get them nice and coated.”  
  
Dean furrows his eyebrows, not entirely sure where he’s going with this but does as he’s told anyway. He has a weird sense of trust in Dmitri. The guy hasn’t let him down yet.  
  
Once he has them generously covered, he returns his hand back to his cock and resumes his stroking, groaning quietly because it feels a lot better. “Okay.”  
  
Dmitri exhales a shaky breath. “I don’t think anyone truly appreciates your beauty – not all of it. But I will. I want every single inch of your body. You’ve never let anyone feel all of you, have you?”  
  
Dean’s hand freezes in place. Is Dmitri asking what he thinks he’s asking? “N-No.”  
  
“I could,” he whispers. “I could give you what no else has.”  
  
Dean swallows thickly. He’s never bottomed for anyone before, or even fingered himself before. He’d be lying though if he said he didn’t think about it. Whenever he’s by himself, he wonders about how it’d feel if he explored himself, but he chickens out every time. This though – hearing Dmitri’s voice that he’s been easily imagining as Cas’ voice – it’s so tempting to try. Cas is probably the first guy that’s made Dean think the words _I’d ride that_ , embarrassingly enough. These calls are supposed to be for people to discover what they like though, right?  
  
“I want it,” he finds himself saying rather hoarsely.  
  
Dmitri lets out a quiet groan. “We’ll start with one finger and see how that feels.” Spreading his legs a little more, Dean hesitantly reaches past his balls to brush a slicked finger over his entrance, sucking in a breath as he does. “I’d lick you open myself if I could,” Dmitri murmurs, seemingly to himself.  
  
Dean shudders at that, licking his lips and slowly pushing his finger inside. “ _Oh,_ ” he breathes at the sensation.  
  
“How does it feel?”  
  
Dean means to respond, but instead he pulls his finger out partly and pushes it back inside, trying to reach deeper and what comes out is a quiet moan instead. Thanks to the lube, it doesn’t burn quite as much as he thought it would and he continues wiggling his finger and moving in and out experimentally.  
  
“ _Fuck._ I wish I could see you right now. How beautiful you look with your finger in that tight ass. Talk to me – how does it feel?” Dmitri practically growls.  
  
“So good. Want more,” he manages to get out.  
  
“Add another. _Slowly._ ”  
  
Dean’s cock twitches at the authority in Dmitri’s voice and he eagerly complies. He nudges a second finger in to join the first, moaning a little louder at the stretch. The burn forces to him to follow Dmitri’s instruction and move slowly, but it feels incredible.  
  
“Shit – it feels so good,” he pants as his fingers sink deeper inside.  
  
“That’s it. Finger yourself open for me. Tell me how good it feels,” Dmitri moans in his ear.  
  
Dean’s almost scared at how easily he can picture Cas in front of him right now saying those words. How easily he can see those blue eyes darkened with lust, staring at him while he’s two fingers deep inside him. Dean’s fingers move faster as he adjusts around them, groaning and biting his lip as he does.  
  
“You feel so fucking good. Fill me up in ways I’ve never been before. Want you. Want your cock so deep inside me,” he whimpers, pulling his phone away so he can put it on speaker and set it down beside him, using his free hand to stroke his aching cock in time with his thrusts. Dean can hear Dmitri’s labored breathing on the other end and there’s no way he’s faking this. He must be touching himself as he listens to Dean finger himself. That gives him an idea.  
  
“You’d like feeling me, wouldn’t you?” he asks in a strained voice. “Want to me to sink back on your cock while you stretch me open? Want to listen to me moan filthily as I take every inch?”  
  
Dmitri groans loudly at that. “You have no idea. God – you’d feel so incredible. Look so fucking beautiful as you take me.” Dean actually jumps a little, hearing a muffled sound through the wall behind him. The wall he shares with Cas.  
  
The walls in this building are annoyingly thin and sometimes he hears Cas getting off in his room. Shit, is he really masturbating at the same time as Dean right now? While Dean’s on the phone with some guy from a sex line? That’s just great.  
  
But instead of being embarrassed and moving out of the room, Dean gets an idea. This couldn’t work out more perfectly; he can listen to the real Cas moan while this guy stepping in as his imaginary Cas supplies all the dirty talk. He should probably feel ashamed that he’s using Cas like this, but he’s way too far gone to debate the ethics of his actions right now.  
  
“Need you so bad. Need more. Can I add a third?” he asks breathlessly.  
  
“Oh fuck, you have such a greedy little ass, don’t you? Do it. Do it now,” Dmitri gasps with another loud moan. Dean grins to himself when he hears a drawn out moan come through the wall. Huh. It was almost at the same time as –  
  
He gasps as a third finger inches past his stretched rim and tears prick at the corner of his eyes. “Holy fucking _shit_.” He opens his eyes to look down, watching as three of his fingers slowly disappear inside him. Goddamn, who knew he’d ever do this and like it as much as he does?  
  
“So hot. Love the sounds you make as you take your own fingers. Fuck, you’re gonna come on those fingers, aren’t you? Just like how you’d come if my cock was deep inside you right now?” Dmitri growls followed by another sinful moan. And Cas moans.  
  
Dean’s getting close to the edge, both of his hands speeding up; the hand thrusting his fingers inside him and the hand stroking his weeping cock. Something’s off about this whole situation though, but Dean’s mind is so hazed with lust it’s hard to think coherently.  
  
Dmitri moans. Cas moans. At the same time.  
  
Dmitri’s whispering something between the downright filthy noises he makes, something maybe he’s not intending for Dean to hear or else he’d say it clearer in that sultry, alluring voice he’s been speaking with this entire time. Dean strains to hear it over the sounds of his own heavy breathing and his fingers thrusting in and out of his hole. His breath gets caught in his throat when he does. Dmitri’s whispering a name. His name.  
  
_Dean. Dean. Dean. Dean._  
  
He never told Dmitri his name. And Cas, one room over, just so happens to go silent at the same time that Dmitri starts that whispering, and moans exactly when Dmitri moans. No fucking way. The mere thought that perhaps he’s actually talking to Cas right now sends sparks flying in Dean’s stomach.  
  
“C-Castiel?” he chokes out.  
  
Dmitri and Cas both gasp loudly with a curse. They’re both coming at the same time, right after Dean said Cas’ name. _Holy shit._  
  
Hearing Dmitri – no, _Cas_ – come both over the phone and through the thin wall is enough to push Dean over the edge, making him orgasm harder than he has in a long time. He shouts to the ceiling, back arching off the bed as warm spurts splash over his hand and stomach. He’s not even sure what he says - Cas’ name may or may not have slipped out.  
  
He’s still breathing heavily as the waves of his orgasm dwindle out, slowly coming down from the high when Cas croaks into the phone. “Dean?”  
  
Dean clears his throat uneasily as he pulls his fingers out and releases his overly sensitive cock, a blush burning all the way up to his ears and even down the back of his neck. “Hey, Cas.”  
  
“Oh my god, I am so sorry, Dean! I – fuck, I should go. Um, thanks for - uh, that was fun. I mean – I hope you enjoyed it. I - dammit - I need to go. Sorry again. H-have a good night,” Cas breathlessly stumbles over his words and before Dean can say anything, the line goes dead. He stares down at his phone, eyes wide and unable to comprehend much of anything else.  
  
Holy _fuck_. He just had phone sex with his neighbor. The same guy he’s been crushing on like a damn school girl. The same guy who he’d been imaging the whole phone call with. The same guy who was apparently thinking about Dean too.  
  
What does this mean? Do they talk about it? Will Cas pack up his art supplies and move out? Or maybe Dean should never touch his phone, go in his bedroom, or leave his apartment ever again? Or maybe… maybe this was their ‘borrow sugar’ moment.  
  
Dean shakes his head, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. This could not get anymore more messed up than it is. But then Dean thinks of Castiel’s flustered goodbye and his heart flutters. Yeah, he really likes this guy, and not for the incredibly hot phone sex they just had. And technically, Cas admitted to liking him too. Smiling faintly to himself, he gets up to go clean himself off. Whatever happens now, happens. But Dean knows one thing for sure, and it’s that he’s determined to get to know the artist next door who has a special way with words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's one way to close out 2016, lol. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed! I'm excited to continue writing in 2017 ♥  
> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, here's a second part! I am still honestly shocked that you all loved the first as much as you did. I never anticipated that kind of response and I didn't intend for it to be more than a oneshot. But the more you guys sent your praise and love for it, the more it got me excited to continue writing. I'd also like to thank my amazing beta [Naomi](http://adoringjensen.tumblr.com) for making sure it wasn't a complete train wreck. Love you babe <3
> 
> Anyway, thanks again for the love and kindness you all showed with the first part. Without further ado, here's the continuation :)

It feels too good to be real. The feeling of slipping into Dean’s mouth and watching those beyond perfect lips stretch around his cock. The warmth and softness of his tongue as Dean teases the sensitive part just under the head. Those darkened green eyes gazing up at him, pupils blown so wide that there’s only a hint of color around the edges. And god forbid – the absolutely sinful noises coming from Dean as he sucks and licks and kisses Castiel’s cock, as if he was getting just as much enjoyment out of this whole thing.  
  
Experimentally, Castiel begins thrusting his hips softly and to his relief, Dean moans and relaxes his throat, allowing him to sink further into Dean’s mouth. They’re sprawled out on the bed, Dean gripping Castiel’s hips while his fingers tangle into Dean’s now poofed up hair. He isn’t fucking Dean’s mouth too hard, but the movement of his hips is enough to make his bed rock slightly, the headboard banging every now and then against the wall.  
  
Castiel’s getting so close, profanities falling from his mouth the closer he gets. As much as each hitched breath and tug of Dean’s hair feels completely real, there’s still that nagging thought that this is all too damn perfect. The knocking gets progressively louder with every thrust and _fuck_ , his body’s beginning to tense up as that heat in his stomach becomes too much and –  
  
A loud ringing snaps him out of his sleep and he sits up abruptly, chest heaving with a thin layer of sweat clinging to his skin. Castiel’s trying to make sense of what’s going on, the disorientation making him forget to grab his phone and answer the call before it stops ringing.  
  
“Dammit, Cassie – open up already!” An accented voice calls through the door accompanied by more violent knocking. Castiel groans at Balthazar’s shouts and falls back against the bed. He faintly hears another door open and close followed by the sound of muffled words being exchanged through the thin walls.  
  
“Hello – yes you. Do you have any idea if Castiel is home?”  
  
“Uh. I don’t, actually. Who, um, who are you?”  
  
Castiel’s stomach drops when he identifies the voice. Shit – Balthazar is talking to _Dean_. He immediately throws the covers off himself and runs for the front door, stumbling around his supplies and random canvases that he curses himself for not having a proper place for. By the time he gets to the door, he doesn’t even think to compose himself before unlatching the lock and flinging it open. His eyes fall on Dean and Balthazar, who are staring at him with bewildered expressions before Balthazar breaks the weird staring contest.  
  
“It’s about damn time, Cassie. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting out here?”  
  
“Sorry, I was, uh –“ Castiel makes the grave mistake to glance at Dean and he feels his ears start to burn. Everything about this entire situation is beyond mortifying. Not only is he standing in the doorway of his apartment in his ratty t-shirt – which has a glaring hole in the armpit amongst others - and pajama pants, but he most likely looks like a wreck from the… _interesting_ dream and then sprinting through his apartment. All in front of Dean Winchester. He can’t even allow himself to consider the events that occurred last night or else he might die of embarrassment right here in the hallway. Which would be even more embarrassing. Wow, he is beyond a wreck.  
  
Castiel clears his throat, looking away from Dean and back to Balthazar. “I was sleeping.”  
  
Balthazar’s eyes noticeably lower and he smirks before looking back up at him. “I see.”  
  
Castiel scrunches his eyebrows before glancing down and nearly having his heart jump out of his chest. Because right there, under the fabric of his pajama bottoms, is definitely a boner. He quickly ducks halfway behind the door, praying to every power in the universe that Dean didn’t see. But the slight pink of Dean’s cheeks pretty much confirms that fact. How do people go into the witness protection program again?  
  
He can’t even form words before Balthazar is turning back to Dean, that stupid smirk growing even cockier. “Right. Well, it was nice meeting you…”  
  
“Dean. Uh, my name’s Dean,” he says, now looking a little fidgety himself.  
  
Balthazar extends his hand to shake Dean’s with that shit eating grin still plastered on his face. “Balthazar. Perhaps we’ll meet again next time Cassie decides to leave me stranded in the hallway.”  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes and reaches forward to grab Balthazar and pull him into the apartment before he prolongs this awkwardness any more than he already has.  
  
Dean gives a single nod, but Castiel can feel his eyes lingering on him. “Yeah, maybe. Um, I guess I better get going to work. See you later.” Castiel sneaks a peek at him once Balthazar’s safely hidden in the apartment, his mouth going dry under Dean’s gaze. He doesn’t risk saying anything because he’s pretty sure his tongue would transform the words into gibberish, or maybe nothing would come out at all. Either option is less than ideal. He gives a small nod before taking a step back and closing the door, unable to stop the sigh of relief that swooshes out of his lungs when he leans against it for support.  
  
“Cassie, have you been up to no good?” Balthazar coos as he walks around Castiel’s apartment, eyes lingering over the many paintings in various stages of completion.  
  
Castiel scoffs, though he’s aware at how unconvincing it sounds. “No more than usual.”  
  
Balthazar glances at him, eyes glittering with amusement. “Does ‘usual’ include green eyes and bowed legs?”  
  
This time, he can’t help the blush that colors his cheeks and he pushes off the door to pad his way into the kitchen. “No. Dean is, um – he’s just my neighbor. We’ve barely even had a conversation so don’t get yourself all worked up,” Castiel tells him as he busies himself with making tea. He likes having coffee in the morning too, but caffeine is hardly needed after a wake up like that one.  
  
Balthazar tuts, moving to lean against the counter next to the stove. “I call bullshit. You’re hiding something, Castiel. The evidence is glaringly obvious and I want to know what it is.”  
  
He pulls out a mug from the cabinet and grabs a teabag, face burning at Balthazar’s reference to his arousal. Thankfully, the upside to being mortified at God knows what time in the morning is having an untimely boner killed. He debates whether telling Balthazar about last night would make any sense at all. It really doesn’t, but he opens his mouth anyway as he keeps his eyes trained on the empty mug.  
  
“Dean called me last night.”  
  
“So? Did he ask you out on a date or something?”  
  
Castiel takes a deep breath and looks him directly in the eye. “No, he _called_ me last night.”  
  
Understanding flickers across Balthazar’s eyes and his mouth drops open. “Oh, you mean… Dmitri?”  
  
Castiel nods slowly, his stomach twisting at the memory. God, how he wishes he could go back to bed and bury himself under the covers. Balthazar stares at him for a long moment before grinning. “Was it good?”  
  
Groaning, Castiel scrubs a hand down his face and turns away from him, unwrapping the teabag and plopping it in the mug before grabbing the whistling teapot and pouring the scalding water. “You’re insufferable.”  
  
Balthazar laughs. “It’s an honest question. It doesn’t take a genius to recognize something happened between the two of you. Now, was it because it was bad or was it good? Out of the two options, there’s only one that can lead to good things. The other? Well, I’ll help you move out.”  
  
Castiel worries his lip, setting aside the teapot to grab the bottle of honey and squeeze a little in with the steeping tea. “I… I don’t know. He, um, _finished_ , but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”  
  
Balthazar moves from his spot to grab a spoon from the drawer he was leaning against and hands it to Castiel. “And you? Did you handle it like any of your other calls?”  
  
Castiel focuses on stirring in the honey, too scared to look at Balthazar. “No.”  
  
He hates admitting it out loud, but he should come to terms with the fact that he screwed up majorly last night by breaking his only rule. Ever since he took the job of performing phone sex for strangers, he laid down one simple rule for himself; don’t get involved. He’ll admit that there’s a sense of pride associated with being able to give pleasure to someone with words and sounds alone, but that’s about it. He never allows himself to experience a mutual sense of pleasure with the phone calls. He prefers keeping himself detached.  
  
And perhaps it’s also because ever since he first saw Dean, he’s the only person Castiel would be able to think about. It’s bad enough he thinks of Dean when he’s alone, but thinking of Dean while taking a call? It seems unprofessional and unfair to the person paying for his services. They deserve his full attention, not him fantasizing about someone else.  
  
Balthazar remains quiet until Castiel’s done stirring his tea and lifts the cup to his lips to take a cautious sip. “He’s the one you’re pining over, isn’t he?” Castiel decides not to answer. His silence says enough anyway. “Did you know it was him?”  
  
Walking over to the small dining table cluttered with sketchbooks and brushes and bottles of paint, Castiel sits on one of the creaky wooden chairs. Balthazar follows his lead, taking the seat across from him and waiting expectantly for an answer.  
  
He sets down the mug with a small sigh. “Yes and no.” Balthazar snorts, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. Castiel rolls eyes but expands anyway. “I thought the voice was familiar when I heard him speak. But since we’ve barely talked at all, I dismissed the idea. Because what are the odds that Dean calls _Angel Voices_? Let alone being connected to me?”  
  
Balthazar hums. “You know what they say about the world.”  
  
“Yes. It’s worrisome how small it is,” Castiel mumbles, tracing a fingertip around the rim of his mug. “But then we started talking a little about dating and how terrible it is. And perhaps it was the anonymity, but we both made confessions about pining over men we like but can’t have. And after thinking about Dean… well, I couldn’t get him out of my head when the call transitioned to the... you know.”  
  
“Oh, Cassie,” Balthazar sighs sympathetically.  
  
He snorts, shaking his head and lowering his voice. “I didn’t even hear him, Balthazar. I was so focused on pleasuring a guy whom I could only picture as Dean that I didn’t hear him through these damn, paper thin walls. He probably even heard me saying his name too.”  
  
Castiel lifts the mug back to his mouth to take a long sip, not caring how it burns his tongue. Balthazar grabs the nearest sketchbook and begins to flip through it, which Castiel’s grateful for. It takes the attention off him and his mess of a life. “So what happened after?”  
  
He takes another sip before lowering the mug from his mouth. “I apologized rather inelegantly and hung up. And that was the end of that.”  
  
Balthazar peeks up at him briefly before returning his attention to the sketchbook. “I hardly say that’s the end of it. Don’t you think a talk is necessary?”  
  
“Or death.”  
  
“Castiel.”  
  
He sighs in frustration. “What’s there to talk about? How awkward it’ll be now between us? How he knows I have a pathetic crush on him? How when we were both supposed to be thinking of the guys we like, I was thinking of him? I don’t think so.”  
  
Balthazar calmly closes the book and sets it aside, placing all his attention on Castiel. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe he was thinking of you too?”  
  
Castiel scoffs, taking a sip of his tea. “You’re insane. Besides, he said he liked a _respectable_ guy. I couldn’t be less qualified for the descriptor. And on the very off chance he even remotely likes me, he’s going to run like every other person who finds out what I do to make money. No one fights to keep a whore.”  
  
Balthazar tenses as anger flashes through his eyes. “Dammit, Castiel - would you stop talking like that? That guy was a complete shithead and I thought you promised to move past all that.”  
  
Castiel glowers at him but doesn’t refute the statement. He did promise, but most things are easier said than done. Forgetting hurtful words that came from someone who supposedly loved you is next to impossible. “Regardless. As I said before, Dean and I barely know each other so the likelihood of him having any interest in me is next to none.”  
  
Balthazar stares at him for a long moment before resigning the conversation with a sigh. “Fine. I didn’t come over here as your friend. I’m here as your agent. We’ve got a last minute meeting with a potential client so make yourself presentable and let’s go.”  
  
Castiel raises his eyebrows in honest surprise. “Really? Someone wants to commission me?”  
  
Balthazar shrugs as he gets to his feet. “Possibly. Now go shower and get dressed. I’ve already got your portfolio in the car. We’ll talk more on the way there.”  
  
Castiel stands slowly, still thrown off by the announcement. Someone… wants to commission him? Or at the very least meet with him? How did Balthazar manage that? He takes one last drink of his tea before making his way to the bathroom, timid to let himself be too excited. But after what happened with Dean and that conversation with Balthazar, Castiel allows himself a small smile. This opportunity could very well be a light in the never ending dark tunnel he’s been trapped in. He needs it more than anything.  
  


*****

Dean trails his fingertips against the deteriorated hood he’s sitting on. What’s left of the midnight blue paint is dulled with years of sitting untouched in every type of weather condition. There’s all sorts of dents and scratches too, some of which are probably from hail, but most likely comes from the crash that landed the car here many years ago.

It’s a real shame. Dean can only imagine how this ’61 Oldsmobile Starfire Convertible looked in her day. All shiny and pristine with a beautiful white convertible top and an engine that’s like music to the ear – though nothing compares to his Baby. Now, the car’s nothing more than a forgotten piece of an era; broken and rusted with the convertible top dirtied and shredded with virtually nothing salvageable anymore under the hood.

Dean snorts quietly to himself. He should really try to eat his lunch instead of getting all philosophical on a car that’s resided in Bobby’s grave yard for as long as he can remember. He digs into his lunch box and pulls out the sandwich he slapped together this morning. He takes a bite, but he’s not exactly hungry. In reality, the reason he’s thinking so much about this car corpse is because he’s trying hard not to think about what happened this morning in the hallway.

His phone comes to life in his pocket and he scrambles to fish it out before it goes to voicemail. Grinning softly at the number on the screen, he answers it. “Hey, Charlie.”

“Hey! Sorry for cutting you off last night. Dorothy and I –“

“It’s okay, Charlie,” he interjects. “Really. I should’ve remembered you don’t have to deal with the struggles of being single anymore.”

Charlie sighs dramatically over the phone. “I know, I just feel guilty. So how are you?”

Dean digs out a bag of kale chips and opens them, popping one in his mouth. “Oh, you know, been doing oil changes about all morning. The Saturday special. I packed Sam’s left over kale chips from his last visit for lunch since I really need to do some grocery shopping and I gotta tell ya – kale chips disgrace the entire concept of chips. Frankly, I’m offended someone would take a snack food that’s supposed to be unhealthy and morph it into this green garbage. Who the hell even thought converting kale into a chip was a good idea? They gotta know they weren’t fooling anyone.”

There’s a snicker in his ear. “Okay spill.”

Dean pauses in his chewing, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“I’m assuming that you didn’t plan to rant to me about kale chips on your lunch break, which means there’s a big something on your mind that you’re not telling me. So spill, Winchester.”

Dean swallows his bite and pulls out another chip, but it stays pinched between his fingers. “So what, you’re some Dean Winchester expert?”

“Got my degree hanging on the wall. Is this about last night? What happened? Did you call a sex line? Did you talk to Castiel?” Charlie’s voice gets higher with each question she fires at him. “Come on, Dean, I’m dying here! Give me something because I _know_ there’s a something.”

He groans, shoving the chip back into the bag and wiping his fingers on his jeans. “Fine. Yes to both.” Charlie squeals loudly in his ear, causing him to almost drop his phone. “Dammit – don’t do that or else I’m hanging up!”

She giggles. “I’m sorry, but this is good news! Last night you were so adamant about not talking to him. I’m glad you finally came around to putting yourself out there.”

Dean nips at his lip, cheeks beginning to heat up. “Well, I didn’t exactly _come around_. It sorta happened by accident.”

There’s silence on the phone for a long moment before Charlie whispers, “ _Oh_. Were you being too loud? Did he have to tell you to keep it down?”

He clears his throat awkwardly, giving a quick look around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping. “Not exactly. He, um, turned out to be the guy I was having the phone sex with.” There’s another incredibly long pause that makes Dean shift uneasily on the car. “Um, Charlie?”

Just then, she bursts out into laughter and Dean can just see her as nothing but doubled over and holding her stomach. He rolls his eyes at her clear enjoyment of the situation and picks up his sandwich to take a pouty bite of it. “I’m glad you find this so amusing,” he says dryly after swallowing his bite, which practically sticks to his throat as it goes down.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but –“ she cuts herself off with more laughter. “But this would seriously only happen to you. You get that, right?” she manages to squeeze out in between giggles.

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” he grumbles as he shoves several kale chips into his mouth, cringing at the taste.

“C’mon, you gotta tell me everything now! I’m the one who told you to call in the first place, so I’d like to hear how I was personally responsible for everything that ensued,” Charlie presses once her laughter subsides, though her voice is still packed with glee. Dean sighs in exasperation but proceeds to tell her about thinking the voice sounded familiar, the weird bonding conversation that took place prior to the action, how he only pieced it together when he heard Cas through their shared wall.

“So he freaked, huh?” she asks sympathetically after he quotes Cas’ frantic end to their phone call to her.

“Oh yeah. I mean, I was freaked too – because how in the world did that even happen – but I don’t know. Maybe it was the post orgasm high –“

“ _Dean._ ”

“But I couldn’t help but think of what you said before – about having that ‘borrow sugar’ moment. Of course, this was after I considered finding a portal to the Upside Down to disappear into just to escape the embarrassment, but it was a moment, y’know? And after talking to him… I really like him, Charlie...”

Dean’s words drift off and he’s aware that there’s an edge of doubt in them. Last night, he was determined to talk to Cas because even if it’s incredibly awkward, he can say he tried. Then maybe he can find that portal and disappear forever. But it’d be worth putting himself out there. This morning happened though and…

“But?” Charlie prompts, catching onto his unfinished thought.

Dean sighs, picking off bits of the crust to his sandwich and tossing them to the ground. “I saw him this morning. Some guy was trying to get into his place and Cas barely even looked at me. Hell – I don’t even think he said a word to me. What if I lost my chance with him because some crazy coincidence neither of us could control? I’m just – I don’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he clearly is, especially since I saw his morning wood. I was so ready last night, but now…”

“Morning wood? Wha-” Charlie starts to ask but then refocuses her attention with a deep breath. “Dean, listen to me. You cannot back out now. Of course the guy is going to be mortified, but you acting like nothing happened and avoiding the subject will only make you feel worse. It’ll make _him_ feel worse.”

Dean frowns, but Charlie’s right. The last thing he wants is for Cas to think that Dean has a lower opinion of him or regrets what happened. He does recall Cas saying how people run when they find out what he does. And even though that’s not the reason Dean would hesitate to talk to Cas, he’ll assume that’s the reason and mark Dean down as just another person who ran off. God, he hates when Charlie’s right.

“Tell me what to do,” he murmurs, because the anxiety of fighting that flight reaction is already clawing at his stomach.

“Just talk to him,” he can hear the sympathetic smile in her voice, “As long as you don’t rant about kale chips, I think you’ll be okay.”

Dean snorts a laugh at that. “Right. I’ll try to control myself.”

With promises that Dean will call later tomorrow and tell her how it goes, they say their goodbyes and hang up. He tries to spend the last five minutes of his break eating his lunch, but all he can do is pick at it and think about how the hell one starts a conversation with the very person they’ve never really talked to before but had hot phone sex with. When did his life become a damn riddle?

*****

  
The car rolls to a slow stop in front of the apartment complex, the quiet inside nearly deafening. Wordlessly, Castiel unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle to make the long walk back to safety.

“Castiel – wait.” Balthazar reaches out to grab his sleeve and gently pulls him back against the seat. He sighs under his breath but gives Balthazar his attention despite wanting to leave the car and drag his sorry self to his apartment and crawl under the sheets.

“Yes?”

Balthazar frowns, letting his hand drop from Castiel’s sleeve. “I know it’s not what you were expecting –“

“Understatement.”

“ – but we have nothing else. I’ve been trying to put your name out there, but no one knows you yet. People want names they know and they’re cautious about investing money into a name that’s not established.”

Castiel looks away from him, that sick feeling he’s had the entire car ride rising up again in his stomach. “I know.”

“The job is far from ideal, but it’s something. You need any sort of ‘something’ you can get,” Balthazar tells him gently.

He huffs quietly. “Yes, I suppose I am that desperate.”

Balthazar rests his hand on his shoulder and when Castiel glances at him, his eyes are nothing but soft. “It’s the process, Cassie. No one ever said it was fair.”

He swallows thickly at that and nods. He’s starting to feel guilty for giving Balthazar the cold shoulder the whole ride home because Balthazar’s constantly working to help him get a better foothold on his career. And he’s right. Castiel knew that any career in the arts is highly competitive and difficult to make a name in because there are thousands more like him fighting to be known. He knew this, accepted this. And now he must bend to the process. It’s all he can do besides quit altogether.

“I know. Thanks for finding me a ‘something’.”

Balthazar smiles and claps him once on the shoulder before withdrawing his hand. “Anything for you, Cassie. Now go and finish at least one of those paintings in your apartment, will you? I can’t sell your shit if you never finish anything.”

Castiel rolls his eyes playfully as he opens the door and steps out of the car. “Fine. And you’ll send me the event information soon?”

Balthazar nods as he shifts out of park but keeps his foot on the brake. “If I don’t have _company_ in the morning, expect an email by noon.” Castiel snorts but nods as he closes the door. Balthazar flashes him one last smile before pulling away from the curb and driving down the street. He watches the car until it disappears from view, sparing a glance at the darkening sky before turning and making his way inside.

The entire elevator ride up to his floor is filled with nothing but thoughts of the upcoming job. Face painting. Castiel frowns but pushes down the disappointment. When he was in high school, face painting was his first job that dealt with anything remotely artistic. And he loved it. He made some money while practicing what he loved doing – creating art. Granted, it was never a lot of money since he was an amateur, but for a high school student, it was something.

A part of him is intrigued by how differently it’ll be now that he’s older with much more experience and talent, but he can’t help but feel like he’s regressing. He shouldn’t be getting jobs that involve painting rainbows on cheeks or transforming a human face into a tiger’s. It’s not that he views himself above it by any means. His passions simply lie elsewhere.

He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he barely looks at Dean’s door as he passes it. He even almost misses the post-it note pressed onto his door, but it catches his attention just as he turns the key to open it. Scrunching his eyebrows together, he takes a half step back to read the note scribbled in capital letters.

_CAN I BORROW SOME SUGAR?_  
_-DEAN_  


Castiel squints at the note, trying to fit the words together in his mind. Dean wants… sugar? A little strange, but alright. Castiel plucks the note from his door and pushes his way inside, trying to ignore how his heart is already starting to race in his chest. He places the keys in a small dish on the table next to the door and makes his way to the kitchen, forgetting to pull off his trench coat as he goes. He tries not to notice how shaky his hands are as they pull off the lid to the sugar container and dip a measuring cup inside to scoop some out.

It’s as if every movement he makes is being controlled by someone else because he’s barely aware of himself. His thoughts are running wild at the prospect of seeing Dean again and it’s difficult to think of anything else. If it goes anything like this morning did, then he can take Balthazar up on his earlier offer to help him find a new place to live. Only this encounter will be much worse because there’s no one around to be a buffer.

It’ll just be them. Face to face. Alone.

He sets down the measuring cup to lean against the counter, taking careful, deep breaths. He can do this. He can do this. With one final inhale and exhale, he straightens himself and picks up the cup. Each step to Dean’s door feels like a mile, but somehow he finds himself in front of it before he knows it. It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he never put the sugar in a bag. He only has his measuring cup to hand to Dean. Shit.

He’s about to turn and rush back to his apartment when the door opens and lo and behold, there’s Dean’s perfect face right in front of him. Castiel commands his mouth to form words, but like this morning, they get stuck in his throat. His heart rate kicks up a notch when Dean grins at him.

“You got my note.”

Castiel blinks, following Dean’s gaze to the measuring cup in his hands and he mentally slaps himself. “Oh – yes, I did. I, uh, just realized I didn’t put it in a baggie. I – I could go do that really quick –“

“It’s okay, I’ve got something we can put it in,” Dean says quickly when Castiel starts backing away to retreat to his apartment. When he stops, Dean lets out a small breath before opening the door wider and stepping aside. “Wanna come in for a sec?”

Castiel glances past Dean and into his apartment, stomach doing a flip. It’s not like he didn’t think of Dean doing intimate things in his own apartment – the walls are thin enough to make that fact known – but it’s different from actually stepping inside. Castiel looks back to Dean, feeling himself nod and then his feet are carrying him past Dean.

The door closes behind him before Dean leads them through the little foyer and into the open space shared by the kitchen and living room. It’s the exact same layout as Castiel’s apartment, only mirrored, but he’s still astounded with how different it looks. It’s so clean and spacious compared to his cluttered mess of art supplies and easels.

Dean wanders off to the kitchen but Castiel finds himself frozen in place when his eyes fall on the living room. His face starts to burn as he recalls Dean beginning their conversation last night there. Before Castiel instructed him to move to the bedroom. And Dean followed his command…

“So that British guy a friend of yours?” Dean’s voice interrupts Castiel’s thoughts and he tears his eyes away from the couch, hesitantly padding his way to the kitchen and setting the cup of sugar on the counter.

“On select days. He’s also my agent.”

Dean purses his lips as he nods slowly, pulling out a ceramic jar that has _'Sugar'_ labeled across the front of it. “Oh, that’s good. He seemed like… an interesting guy.”

Castiel snorts. “Yes, that’s one way to describe Balthazar.”

The conversation – if it can be called that – lulls while Dean pours the sugar into the jar. It doesn’t help that every time Castiel sneaks a peek at Dean’s profile, his mind only seems to want to conjure up images of what he must’ve looked like when he moaned in response to the filthy words Castiel fed him.

“What’s the sugar for?” he finds himself blurting out, more to stop his thoughts from wandering any further. And now starts the slow circle around the drain of embarrassment.

Dean’s in the middle of replacing the lid when he freezes, and Castiel notes the slight bob of his throat. “Oh, um… well, things you need sugar for.”

Castiel furrows his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Like pie,” Dean says quickly as he replaces the lid and puts the jar back in the cabinet. “I was thinking of making my friend some pie because she, um, likes pie.”

Castiel nips at lip, an odd mixture of emotions swirling around in his stomach. On one hand, his ridiculous crush on Dean still stands. If seeing him in the hallway was enough to give him butterflies, being this close to him – let alone in his apartment – is causing those butterflies to wreak havoc inside him.

On the other hand though, there’s that gnawing mixture of anxiety and embarrassment making those butterflies feel like pieces of lead in his stomach. He imagines Dean is uncomfortable right now, but if he didn’t want to see Castiel at all, why put a note on his door that forced them to see each other? Unless, perhaps, none of their other neighbors had sugar Dean could borrow from.

The conflicting feelings are getting too much for Castiel and all he knows is that he needs to get out of here. He did his neighborly duty and that’s the end of that. Time for him to make his exit. He clears his throat as he picks up the now empty measuring cup. “I should probably go. Um, good luck with the pie.” He doesn’t allow himself one last look at Dean before he turns and starts for the door.

“Cas – hold on a second.” He feels a gentle hand wrap around his wrist to stop him from going any further. He exhales a shaky breath at hearing his name – or some variation of it – spoken from Dean’s lips but doesn’t fight the grasp, though Castiel doesn’t look at him either.

“What is it?” he asks quietly, even though he knows damn well what Dean’s about to say.

There’s a small sigh. “I know things are a bit… weird, but if it makes you feel better, we can wipe our slates clean. We can start over.”

“You want to forget last night happened?” Castiel’s honestly not sure if he wants that or not. How could he erase that whole encounter from his mind? How can he ever look at Dean and think about how he _knows_ what Dean sounds like when he’s wrecked and on the verge of an orgasm? How he sounds when he pants out Castiel’s name while touching himself? But because he knows that now, he’ll never have a real chance.

“If it’s what you want, then I’ll do it,” Dean tells him. “At the very least, we’re neighbors and we both shouldn’t have to avoid each other because of what happened. But I’d… I’d really like for us to have a fair chance.”

Castiel finally looks at Dean, whose cheeks are pink and his eyes seem determined to look anywhere else but him. “A fair chance?”

Dean’s blush deepens and he shrugs. “We could maybe go out some time if you want.”

Castiel’s heart leaps in his chest because holy shit – did Dean just ask him out? Him, Castiel Novak? But as soon as the butterflies celebrate, their lead wings drag them down into the pit of his stomach. “I’m not sure that’d be the best idea.”

“Care to elaborate?” Dean asks in a voice that’s fighting to be light-hearted but seems disappointed instead.

He sighs. “As you may recall, I mentioned how successful my dating ventures are.”

Dean hums thoughtfully. “True. But as I also recall, the success was due to your partners finding out about your unique phone conversations. Well, since I know, don’t you think we have a better chance already?”

“I suppose, but they always end the same way.”

“What if it doesn’t this time?”

“What if it does?”

“If it doesn’t work out for any reason, I can _guarantee_ it won’t be because of you being a phone sex operator.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then enlighten me.”

“Dean.”

“ _Cas_.”

Castiel huffs in frustration, looking away from Dean. “I’d rather not get attached to you only for it to end the way I know it will. We’ll be saving ourselves the time and spare whatever feelings may develop between us.”

“Aren’t you the romantic one."

“I’m serious, Dean.”

The warmth around Castiel’s wrist suddenly disappears and he realizes it’s because Dean finally let go. Castiel hates how he wishes he didn’t. “Alright,” Dean says, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “How about being friends?”

Castiel peeks at him. “Friends?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, I think they’re people you can hang out with and get to know. Of course, all the dirty, fun stuff’s missing, but I still hear they’re pretty cool.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. Okay, so Dean Winchester is a smart ass. Good to know. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.”

The smile Dean flashes him leaves Castiel blushing and he knows he should just walk out of this apartment now if he knows what’s good for him. But then again, he never put a qualifier to who exactly he can and cannot be friends with. Granted, people probably shouldn’t be friends with those they’re crushing on and find insanely attractive, but Dean seems more than willing to put their intimate moment behind them. They’re neighbors, after all. What’s the harm in getting to know who he’s living next to?

“Fine. _Friends_.”

The triumphant way Dean’s smile widens should probably concern Castiel, but he can’t bring himself to care. “Awesome. As our first order of being friends, would you like to get coffee tomorrow morning? Maybe some breakfast?”

Castiel squints at him. “Just coffee.”

Dean puts a hand over his heart in a wounded manner. “Friends can’t have breakfast together?”

Castiel makes his way to the door, mostly so Dean can’t see the traitorous smile that keeps pulling at the corner of his mouth. “We technically don’t know each other well enough to even be considered friends. I’d categorize us as familiar acquaintances. We have some work to do before we reach breakfast status.”

Dean follows after him, chuckling under his breath. “I disagree. Given our recent history, I’d say we’re a little more than ‘familiar acquaintances’. But I guess you have a point.”

A blush spreads to the tips of Castiel’s ears and down his neck at Dean’s reference, but he’s glad maybe they can joke about it now instead of dancing around the topic like it never happened. Because Castiel _definitely_ doesn’t want to forget it happened.

“Then it’s settled. Coffee tomorrow,” he says as he opens the door and steps out into the hallway. When he turns to say his goodbyes to Dean, he has to stumble back in surprise with how close Dean’s face is to his.

Dean’s wearing that crooked smile that awakens those butterflies that seemed to have shed their lead wings for what feels like feathers. “How’s nine thirty sound?”

Castiel nods stiffly. “Nine thirty sounds fine.” Dean’s eyes linger on him before he steps back into his apartment. Right before he closes the door, Castiel reaches out to stop it, catching Dean by surprise. “I, um, just wanted to warn you that _Dmitri_ has to work tonight in case you, uh, _hear_ anything.”

Dean’s eyes widen for a moment before he looks away and nods, looking a tad flustered. “Oh, sure. That’s cool. Thanks for telling me.”

Castiel lets his hand slip from the door but allows a small smile. “See you tomorrow, Dean.”

Dean raises his eyes back to him and his smile returns, but less as a smirk and with more softness. “See ya, Cas.”

The door shuts and Castiel commands his feet to carry him back to his apartment. When he’s safe behind the closed door, he finally sheds his trench coat and makes his way to the kitchen to put the measuring cup away, smiling to himself the entire time. After that talk, he’s not even thinking about his disappointment regarding the face painting job. And he already knows it’ll be a little difficult to get into character tonight with how he’s doing nothing but replaying the entire encounter over and over in his head.

But there’s something about knowing that Dean could possibly hear him tonight through their shared wall and get flashbacks of their own phone call. He certainly wouldn’t mind seeing a flustered Dean tomorrow morning at nine thirty when they meet in the hallway. A smirk pulls at his mouth at the thought as he walks to his bedroom to change. There’s nothing wrong with that. Friends tease each other anyway, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;))  
> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you can see, I've decided to continue this story. The two first parts were a lot of fun to write, so I decided 'what the hell' and I'm gonna run with it. I don't have an exact schedule as to when this will be updated (school and life stuff, ya know) but know that I've outlined the story and have a good idea of what's to happen, so hopefully I can update in a decent time frame. All I ask for is patience ♥ I'm also toying with the idea of releasing little snippets that might not have any direct impact on plot, but serve as mini timestamps in between the main chapters, but we'll see! I might experiment with it and see what you guys think.
> 
> I'm just warning you guys now, I'm anticipating this to be a relatively long fic. Be prepared for some slow burn, some angst (classic, I know), but I promise there will be good times had too :)) I will update tags as we go, but I'll also put a note before the chapter if anything questionable comes up. Anyway, I'll stop rambling now! Enjoy this rather lengthy chapter, lol

9:15.  
  
Those are the numbers staring back at Dean. Laughing at him. Teasing him. Mocking him.  
  
He scoffs at himself and tosses the phone to the opposite end of the couch. That damn thing needs to be as far away from him as possible because all he’s been doing since nine o’clock is checking the stupid time. It’s all kinds of pathetic. He can’t remember the last time he’s been ready this early for a da – to meet a _friend_. Especially if said meeting was in the morning hours.  
  
Dean doesn’t consider himself an anti-morning person, but he can never wrap his brain around what Sam finds so appealing in waking up early to go jogging, of all things. Waking up early for work though? No problem - it’s whatever. If Rufus sticks Dean on an opening shift in which he’s to wake his ass up earlier than he’d like, he’s not too offended by it. Work means money, and he could use any and all cash he can get. Waking up early is just the price to pay sometimes.  
  
But getting up early when it doesn’t involve making money? He must be out of his damn mind. It’s Sunday. He should be sleeping in and refusing to put on actual clothes until at least eleven. But here he is; dressed and ready to go out into the world, doing nothing but checking the time every thirty seconds.  
  
9:18.  
  
Fuck.  
  
He gets up off the couch, his wandering eyes clearly not trustworthy enough to sit there without checking the clock hanging on the wall. He makes his way to the kitchen, purposely not looking at the digital clock on the stove, and pulls the fridge open. His heart sinks at how empty it is. He’s in dire need to do some grocery shopping today. It’s amazing he even scraped dinner together last night - which, by the way, he will not think about too hard. But all that’s available for a quick snack to semi-sate his empty stomach is Sam’s friggin’ Greek yogurt. Why does he insist on filling Dean’s fridge with his friggin’ health nut food whenever he visits?  
  
With a small huff, he snatches the container out of the fridge and may or may not slam the door a little harder than necessary. Peeling away the foil cover, he grabs a spoon and shoves it in the yogurt to stir it around. When the first taste hits his tongue, Dean cringes. How can Sam enjoy this stuff? It’s all tart and no sweetness. Isn’t yogurt supposed to be sweet? What the hell.  
  
Despite his silent suffering, Dean eats another spoonful before walking back to the couch to retrieve his phone from where he tossed it. He avoids looking at the time as he unlocks it and opens up his text messages.  
  
_Hey bitch, quit leaving your healthy shit behind to sit in my fridge_  
  
He sends the message before plopping himself in a chair at the small dining table he rarely ever uses. The couch is always more comfortable to have his meals, but that clock right by it cannot be trusted. The spoon is in his mouth again when the phone vibrates with a new message.  
  
_You know I can’t bring all that food on the plane, jerk. And it’s good for you._  
  
Dean rolls his eyes, about to voice his disagreements when another message comes through.  
  
_What are you doing up this early anyway? Doesn’t Rufus leave your Sunday mornings free?_  
  
His fingers hesitate over the keyboard. Crap. He doesn’t feel like getting into this whole Cas thing with his brother right now. Sam would certainly have questions for him, and he honestly doesn’t want to talk about it. When Sam was here for spring break last week, he had one encounter with Castiel that could barely be considered an encounter; Sam simply held the elevator door for him when Cas was getting on and they were getting off. He probably doesn’t even know Cas is Dean’s neighbor, let alone about the crush Dean’s barely been able to acknowledge until a couple days ago.  
  
Avoidance it is.  
  
_I should be asking you the same. Isn’t it 6 in morning for you?_  
  
_Yeah - Gonna go for a run. Then Amelia and I are spending the day in the library. So why you up?_  
  
_C’mon Sammy, I taught you better than this! You should be hung over from partying last night, not getting up early to nerd out in a library_  
  
_I bet Charlie knows why you’re up. You know, I’ve been meaning to give her a call._  
  
An involuntary puff of air escapes Dean as he stares at the offensive message. Why does Sam have to play dirty like that? Still, the longer he waits to respond, the more Sam will get suspicious.  
  
_Jesus Christ, Sam. Can’t a guy get up early without his reasons being analyzed to death?_  
  
_No._  
  
Dean sighs in exasperation before typing out a lie. _I have work, OK?_  
  
It’s not even a good lie, but he can’t think of anything better. It’s pointless though because Sam knows he’s lying. For all the time Dean’s worked under Rufus, the guy’s never had Dean scheduled for Sunday morning since Dean is, essentially, in charge while Rufus observes his Saturday Sabbath. Or rather, stay at home all day and drink whisky. But Dean’s not allowed to point that out.  
  
_That’s bull and you know it._  
  
Dean’s fingers hover over the screen, unsure what to say. Thankfully his eyes choose this moment to notice the time and he breathes out in relief.  
  
9:32.  
  
He scrambles to his feet, trying to smother the excited tickle in his stomach. He pitches whatever’s left of the yogurt in the trash and tosses the spoon in the sink before heading towards the front door and texting one last message to Sam.  
  
_Gotta run. Don’t wanna be late!_  
  
Shoving the phone in his pocket, Dean opens the door and steps out into the hallway before locking up behind him. He’s vaguely aware his phone vibrates with an irritated message from Sam, but it’s the last thing he’s concerned with right now.  
  
When he looks around, he notices a lack of Castiel standing in the hallway. He swallows dryly, doubt already creeping into his mind. What if Cas changed his mind? What if he realized how stupid them being friends is? God – did he accept Dean’s invitation out of _obligation_? Sure, recent evidence shows Cas likes Dean to some capacity, but what if that all changed? People get over crushes.  
  
Before Dean’s mind can officially work itself into complete mess, the sound of squeaking hinges catches his attention and he glances over to see a trench coat locking the door. When Cas turns around, Dean’s spiraling thoughts dissipate at the sight of Cas’ hair and he grins.  
  
“Don’t you look all bright eyed and bushy tailed.”  
  
Cas ducks his head shyly while his fingers reach up in an attempt to tame his bedhead. Dean’s not going to think of what else that hair could look like. “I apologize for keeping you waiting. The snooze button and I have a close relationship.”  
  
Dean chuckles before leaning forward and swatting Cas’ hands away from his hair. “Don’t be. But you do look like you could use some coffee.”  
  
A light shade of pink colors Cas’ cheeks and it’s only then Dean realizes what he did. Dammit – he needs to put this ever present urge to touch Cas in check right now. Yesterday, it was the wrist thing, and now this. Who knows what Dean might idiotically do next? He wants to give an awkward apology but Cas doesn’t look put off by it.  
  
“You would be correct in that assumption.”  
  
Dean relaxes once again and motions for them to walk together. “I know just the place. You okay with us taking my car?”  
  
A strange look passes over Cas’ face – is it shame? – before he gives a meek nod. “Yes, that sounds fine.”  
  
Dean watches him for a moment but quickly brushes it off. Whatever that was, he won’t inquire about it just yet. “Cool.” He nods once as he begins walking down the hall to the elevators. “I guess this means you get to meet my Baby.”  
  
Castiel matches his stride as they walk. “Um, your what?”  
  
“My Baby,” Dean chuckles as the elevator _dings_ , the doors opening a beat later. “She’s a ’67 Chevy Impala and she’s beautiful.”  
  
“Oh. Your car.” After pressing the garage floor button, Dean glances over to catch the tail end of Cas’ eye roll.  
  
“I saw that. You know, I’d show a little more gratitude if I were you. Not everyone gets the privilege of getting a ride in her.”  
  
The floors slowly tick by as they descend and Castiel snorts, never taking his eyes away from the little digital number. “Have you always formed emotional attachments to your modes of transportation?”  
  
“Hard to tell. That car’s been with me since I was little, so I guess you can say I’m sentimental.” A small smile pulls at Dean’s lips. “I can’t even begin to say how many stories I could tell. She belonged to my dad.”  
  
The smile fades just as fast as it came, a little shocked those words even came out and the distant tone that delivered them doesn’t go unnoticed. Dean feels Castiel’s gaze on him and suddenly he hates how slow this elevator is. When are they going to refurbish this piece of junk anyway?  
  
Finally though, the doors open to the garage under the apartment complex and Dean steps out without a glance at Cas. There’s no way they’re at the level of friendship that involves personal conversations like that yet, especially when Dean doesn’t even let himself think about certain things. Thankfully, Cas follows quietly without any probing questions.  
  
“There she is.” Dean points as they make their way across the garage, his smiling returning. Despite the dim lighting and the dull concrete, the Impala looks sleek and beautiful as ever. He’s glad he washed her up the other day or else Cas might’ve thought he was insane. Still probably does, but it’s okay when his car looks the way it does right now. He looks over at Cas, eager for any sort of reaction.  
  
“So?”  
  
Cas’ eyes trail over the car before landing on Dean. He doesn’t exactly smile, but he eyes seem light with amusement. “I may not be car savvy, but I do admit she looks impressive.”  
  
Dean can’t help but smile wider. It’s nice to hear the honesty in Cas’ voice, like he’s not just saying the words out of politeness. And maybe it’s also that Cas used ‘she’ rather than ‘it’, like he acknowledges and respects the importance the car holds for Dean. It’s a stupid reason to smile about, but Dean can’t help it. He digs out his keys as he walks to the driver’s side.  
  
“Good to know you have good taste in cars. Door’s open, by the way.”  
  
Cas follows suit, walking to the passenger side and opening the door. He jumps when the hinges scrape, their echoes bouncing off the concrete and making the sound louder than usual, but slides in without comment. It doesn’t stop Dean from snickering though. “I said she’s beautiful, not that she isn’t old.”  
  
Cas seems guilty he was caught but shrugs. “If she’s so old, how is it she looks brand new?”  
  
Once Dean has the key in the ignition, he wastes no time in starting her up and revving the engine just a little bit. Still one of his favorite sounds. He’s definitely not showing off though.  
  
“Restoration,” he answers as he shifts gears and drives them out of the garage and onto the main street. “Believe me, this car’s been through some shit. Lucky for her, she’s had damn good mechanics to take care of her. If you look hard enough though, you’ll see her history.”  
  
Cas squints at him, clearly not getting the contradicting statement and Dean simply flashes him a charming smile in return.  
  
“I see,” he finally says, looking away. They drive in silence for several minutes before Cas speaks up again. “Are those… Legos?”  
  
Glancing over, Dean sees Cas leaning forward and staring intently at the windshield where the reflection of the pale blue and yellow and red plastic blocks can be seen against the pale, gray sky.  
  
“Sure are.”  
  
Cas raises his eyebrows at him and Dean indulges him with the story of how when he was little, he had the brilliant idea of shoving the Legos in the vent because he’d thought they’d be safe there. He told Cas how his dad wasn’t too happy when he realized Dean pushed them in too far and they were ultimately stuck there without a serious trip to a mechanic shop. Dean told him how they rattle whenever the heat’s turned on. How his dad would give him a withering look every time, though his mom found it amusing. And because Mom found it amusing, Dad eventually came around and over time, that rattling became another characteristic of the car. A fond one.  
  
“Funny how things work out like that,” Cas murmurs with a small smile when Dean’s done retelling the memory, though it slips after a moment. “My mother would’ve gotten them removed and then punished whoever vandalized the car.”  
  
Dean grimaces. “Guess that’s the logical thing to do. You don’t strike as the type who’d shove Legos in a car vent though.”  
  
“You’re probably right. Between the three children in my family, my older brother would be the one to do it. Frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t before. He favored glitter instead.”  
  
Dean sneaks a peek at Cas, frowning at the expression on his face. The glitter mention sounds like it’d be a funny story, but everything in Cas’ body language says otherwise. He’s staring straight ahead, a blank look on his face to match the detached tone. There’s itch to revive the tiny smile that was chased away by the mention of family. Looks like he and Cas might have more in common than he thought.  
  
“Do you have any other secret stories about this car?” Cas asks abruptly. Yep, family is definitely an off-limits topic. While Dean’s wildly curious to know just about anything regarding Castiel, he’ll listen to the silent plea without questions asked.  
  
“Tons. But we’ll save those for another day. We’re here,” Dean tells him as he pulls off the main road and into the parking lot of a small diner. He watches Cas’ expression as he pulls into a spot, strangely amused at the way his eyebrows knit together.  
  
“Where are we?”  
  
“’Bout twenty five minutes outside the city,” Dean grunts as he swings open the door and steps out. Cas follows his lead, although timid about it. Dean can’t exactly blame him. The little town looks old and rundown and probably not the best place to be at night, but Dean’s come to find it’s completely harmless. He starts towards the diner, anxious to get his hands on some coffee, but stops when he realizes he’s walking alone. He looks over his shoulder at Cas who’s still standing by the passenger door.  
  
“You taking a mental picture or something?”  
  
Castiel tears his gaze from the diner, ignoring the rhetorical question. “I thought we agreed to get _coffee_. Breakfast was not part of the deal,” he points out flatly.  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “You do know diners are more than capable of serving just coffee, right?” Cas is still staring at him incredulously and Dean sighs. “I swear I’m not trying to trick you. Just… trust me.”  
  
There’s a moment where they hold each other’s gazes. Dean can see the way Cas’ eyes flit over his face, those gears turning behind them as if he was deciding if Dean is actually a trustworthy person. He doesn’t blame him though – Dean sure as hell doesn’t trust himself. In fact, it’s ridiculous he even brought Cas here in the first place. What was he thinking? This is too personal for two ‘familiar acquaintances’ to get to know each other.  
  
“You know what? You’re right,” he murmurs as he digs his keys back out from his pocket. “I think there’s a coffee shop five minutes down the road. Are you a Starbucks guy? Or maybe we could find a –“  
  
“Dean.”  
  
He stops, lifting his eyes back to Cas, who’s moved from the passenger side to block Dean’s path back to the car and wow, he sure is close.  
  
“Let’s go inside.”  
  
Dean opens his mouth to object and insist they can go elsewhere, but the look on Cas’ face is so steady, so sure. He trusts Dean. And now Dean’s going to prove to Cas he’s not about to screw up their potential friendship by pushing his limits.  
  
With a slight nod – because it’s all he can do with those blue eyes staring at him the way they are – Dean tucks his keys away and begins walking back towards the diner. He doesn’t even have to check that Cas is following him because he’s right at his side.  
  
When they get inside, Dean’s pleased to find the majority of the usual morning rush has cleared out, but there’re still enough people in the place to give it a comfortable hum of conversations mingled in with the soft music of what sounds like a cello. It completely clashes with the décor – worn, wood floors and paneling on the walls with dark green accents, mismatched wood tables and chairs, the random assortment of pictures and items hung on the walls, and the general grunginess the place has.  
  
Dean has to stifle a laugh at the look on Cas’ face as he looks around, taking in his surroundings. He’ll admit it takes a moment to get used to the atmosphere. This kind of place would be commonly found back in Kansas, but on the outskirts of Grand Rapids? Not so much.  
  
“Hey, Dean! A little unusual to see you here at this time, isn’t it?” a voice greets him from behind the counter, tearing his attention away from Cas. He rolls eyes. Since when is it such a crime for a guy to be up ‘early’ on a Sunday?  
  
“Apparently so, Kevin. This is Castiel, by the way.” Dean lifts his hand, about to clap Cas on the shoulder before he reminds himself to stop being so hands-y and ends up awkwardly gesturing as if Cas was a watch on QVC. Kevin raises his eyebrows and Dean knows exactly what he’s thinking. He knew bringing Cas here was a bad idea. “And Cas, this is Kevin. He’s a friend.”  
  
Cas nods and gives a small wave, if a little awkward about it. “Hello.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Castiel,” Kevin says with a friendly smile before looking back to Dean. “Benny’s in the back helping out in the kitchen. I’ll let him know you’re here.”  
  
“Thanks, Kev. And tell him he’s getting soft for letting you to play your band geek music.” Dean shoots him cocky smile in response to Kevin’s death glare before nudging Cas towards a small table by the window, away from the other patrons in the diner. Private, but not too private.  
  
When they sit, Cas is still scanning the place, as if recording each detail to memory. Dean lets him until his eyes trace their back to him before he seems embarrassed, having been caught scrutinizing the place.  
  
“Penny for your thoughts?”  
  
Castiel shrugs lightly. “It’s an interesting place.”  
  
“Interesting,” Dean echoes back.  
  
A nod. “Yes. I can’t quite say I would’ve thought this place would be a prime spot for coffee. The atmosphere,” Cas pauses, searching for the words. “There’s a sort of dissonance from what I’ve experienced before in a diner or a coffee shop.”  
  
Dean purses his lips thoughtfully. “Is that good or bad?”  
  
Cas glances out the window, seeming uncomfortable under Dean’s attention. “I don’t know – it’s just different. It looks rougher than other diners. Everything clashes and seems out of place, but at the same time… It looks whole.” Dean can feel a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth and Cas catches it, his cheeks reddening before turning his head away again. “Never mind. I just ramble about non sense sometimes.”  
  
Dean snorts. “No, it’s a good thought. And you’re right – this isn’t like any other diner, which is exactly why I like it.”  
  
Cas’ eyes flicker back to him with a twinge of gratitude. Before either one of them can say anything more, there’s a new presence standing in front of their table.  
  
“Hey, Chief. Thought you’d be at home sleepin’ in.”  
  
Dean looks up at Benny and grins. “Can’t go too long without seeing your beautiful mug, Benjamin.”  
  
Benny rolls his eyes before looking to Cas, giving him a subtle once over. “Don’t think I recognize you. Friend of Dean’s?”  
  
“We’re familiar acquaintances,” Cas answers flatly, holding Benny’s gaze.  
  
Raising his eyebrows, Benny gives Dean a look before chuckling. “Never heard that one before, but alright. Name’s Benny. The only time anyone calls me Benjamin is when Dean thinks he’s being cute.”  
  
Dean scoffs. “I’m not _cute_. I’m adorable.”  
  
“Castiel. Although Dean has taken to shortening my name for an unknown reason,” Cas says, ignoring Dean’s comment.  
  
“It’s a nickname, Cas,” he huffs, but it’s as if he’s not here. The two of them have this weird stare down going on and Dean’s half expecting one of them to lunge at the other. The hell?  
  
He clears his throat loudly. “So yeah – Cas, Benny. Benny, Cas.”  
  
Thankfully, it breaks the weirdness and Benny gives a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Castiel. Now, what can I get you boys?”  
  
“We’re just doing coffee,” Dean supplies.  
  
Benny knits his eyebrows together. “Ya sure? I can whip up some Cajun style scrambled eggs. I just tweaked my recipe and you’re my guinea pig, Dean.”  
  
Dean grimaces because although Benny’s scrambled eggs are out of this world, the last time he ‘tweaked’ his recipe, Dean had tears in his eyes. “Maybe next time. Just the coffee will be fine for us.”  
  
Benny nods. “Two coffees comin’ up.”  
  
Dean watches him retreat before turning back to Cas, who’s still got his eyes trained on Benny with that same scrutinizing expression as before. Did he completely miss something?  
  
“So yeah, that was Benny. He may seem all tough and hard edges, but he’s a cool guy.” Cas is still looking away from Dean, seemingly lost in thought and Dean’s not sure what to do. Is this an artist thing? Or just a Castiel thing?  
  
Picking up his napkin, he starts folding and unfolding it in his hands as he fills the silence.  
  
“Him and I – we work at the shop together. He’s more part time though since he works here too. In fact, we probably just caught him before he’s headed over there, so we’ll be getting the good coffee. Not that Kevin’s coffee sucks, but it’s like an art. Everyone makes it differently, ya know?”  
  
“Why do you call me Cas?”  
  
The simple question puts a halt to Dean’s senseless rambling and his fingers freeze. When he looks up, Cas’ has his eyes on him in a guarded stare. Dean shrugs.  
  
“I told you – it’s a nickname.”  
  
That earns him an exasperated huff. “I know. But why?”  
  
Dean tosses the napkin aside and shifts in his seat. “Do you have a problem with nicknames or something? I seem to remember that one guy calling you ‘Cassie’ in the hallway yesterday.”  
  
“But that’s Balthazar.”  
  
“So I’ve been blacklisted from giving you a nickname?”  
  
“No. I just – I don’t understand why you gave it to me in the first place when we barely know each other.”  
  
“Because… I don’t know. It seemed right. Not that anything’s wrong with your full name but – never mind.” Dean gives a resigned sigh. “Look, if it bothers you, I’ll call you Castiel.”  
  
Cas shakes his head quickly. “No, it’s fine.” He lowers his gaze, fingers fidgeting in his lap. “I like Cas.”  
  
The heaviness in Dean’s chest lightens at the quietly spoken words. Man, he thought he was going to break a sweat at how intense that little exchange got. Not even because of Cas’ persistence – but the general question of ‘why’. It wasn’t a conscious decision to refer to Cas as, well, _Cas_ , especially when Dean went on way too long essentially hiding from the guy. But he really should stop himself from thinking too much into it. It’s a nickname, not a love confession for Christ’s sake.  
  
He smiles. “Good. Then we’re sticking with Cas.”  
  
Cas nods once as if to make it official, but he’s still avoiding eye contact and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but his cheeks look a little flushed. He can’t have Cas retreating back into his shell now. Time to have a little fun.  
  
“I could also call you Cassie though.”  
  
Cas’ eyes dart up, wide with horror. “Absolutely not.”  
  
Dean chuckles, pleased with the reaction. “I dunno, it’s kinda growing on me.”  
  
“Dean, I swear if you call me Cassie, this friendship is over.”  
  
That only makes Dean laugh harder. “Why? It’s cute.”  
  
“Because –“ And if Castiel wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now. “The only two people who use that nickname are my brother and Balthazar. It’s embarrassing and – it’s all sorts of wrong to have _you_ calling me that as well.”  
  
It takes a moment, but then Dean understands the underlying message: having the guy you had some form of sex with use the same nickname as your brother is the biggest turn off ever. And thus, the name Cassie was banished from Dean’s vocabulary.  
  
Dean searches for something else to say on the topic, but then two empty mugs are placed on the table followed by the delicious smell of coffee wafting into the air as Benny fills them.  
  
“Thanks, Benny,” he murmurs, pulling the warm mug closer.  
  
“Sure thing,” he answers before looking to Castiel, a smirk playing on his lips. “I could get some cream or sugar if you’d like.”  
  
Cas simply pulls his mug closer to himself as he looks up at Benny. “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”  
  
Benny’s smirk grows. “Didn’t peg you for liking ‘em black, but whatever works. Just holler if you two need anything else.”  
  
Dean can only mutter a quiet acknowledgement to Benny before he leaves, completely confused. He’s been present this whole time, but yet he can’t understand this weirdness between Benny and Cas. Maybe some people just don’t click, which will suck for Dean if he develops a friendship with Cas.  
  
Lifting the mug to his lips, Dean hums in contentment as warmth radiates throughout his body at the first sip. It’s just what he needed. He watches closely when Cas does the same, sniffing at the steam rising from the mug first before taking an experimental sip. He blinks a couple times, as if pleasantly surprised, but irritation quickly replaces it.  
  
“Good, right?”  
  
Cas sets the mug down carefully. “Yes, it is actually.”  
  
Dean chuckles at the begrudging way Cas says it but decides not to ask why he seems unhappy about it. The reason is pretty apparent. “I’ll admit I’m also a little shocked you drink it black. Most people I know at least add a little something to it.”  
  
Castiel smirks. “It helps if you have a brother like mine. Gabriel always messed with my coffee. He’s a raging addict when it comes to all things sugary and sweet and seems to think everyone else should be too.”  
  
Dean raises his eyebrows. “How bad we talkin’?”  
  
Cas ponders the question for a moment as he takes another sip. “I believe his record is ten teaspoons.”  
  
Dean nearly gags. “What?”  
  
A chuckle rumbles from Castiel’s chest. “That’s not including the vanilla creamer he poured in too.”  
  
“Gross.” Dean shakes his head in disgust. “Your brother sounds like a really swell guy.”  
  
“He has an asshole streak to him, but he’s got a good heart. I still prefer him to my sister despite being the recipient of too many pranks.”  
  
“Sister, huh? What’s she about?”  
  
Castiel quiets for a moment, staring down at his coffee. Dammit, that’s right. Family was supposed to be avoided like the plague. Maybe Dean should change the subject. Talk about Sam or something so they can be even with the family sharing and move on.  
  
“Hael.”  
  
The word stops Dean’s thoughts and he glances outside. “Hail?”  
  
Cas snorts. “My sister’s name; her name is Hael.” Well, now Dean just feels stupid.  
  
“Oh, sorry,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his coffee before he can embarrass himself further. But Cas’ eyes just smile at him.  
  
“Don’t be. Her name is rather unusual, as is mine, so it’s understandable that people are thrown off at first.”  
  
“Any dramatic story behind it?”  
  
Castiel shakes his head. “Not particularly unless you consider being named after angels dramatic.”  
  
Dean raises his eyebrows, intrigued by that little fact. While he’s never heard the name Castiel before, it does have a sort of power in it that seems more celestial than human. “I’d say that qualifies as dramatic. I’m guessing you know about these angels?”  
  
There’s the smallest hint of a smile on Cas’ lips at the question, like he’s pleased Dean asked. “Gabriel is the angel most people know of – one of the archangels. Hael is the Angel of kindness, but also revolves around art and beauty – which I can tell you my sister is none of.”  
  
Dean nearly chokes on his coffee. “You callin’ your sister ugly, Cas?”  
  
He chuckles to himself. “No, just her personality.”  
  
Dean snickers. “Alright. What about Castiel?”  
  
Cas pauses to take a sip, one shoulder barely lifting in a shrug. “Nothing of significance.” That provokes a frown from Dean.  
  
“C’mon, don’t hold out on me now.”  
  
The tip of Cas’ finger traces the rim of his mug, eyes tracking the movement. “There’s little lore about him. He’s sometimes regarded as the Angel of Thursday, but others seem to think the name’s a mere variant of a more powerful angel, Cassiel.”  
  
There’s that detached tone again that Dean’s really starting to dislike. It means something’s bothering Cas and Dean wishes they were close enough to know what that could be. All he does know is that he needs to chase away whatever thoughts are plaguing that head of his.  
  
Dean sits back nonchalantly as he takes another drink. “Well, I think you’d give that angel a run for his money.” He considers it a win when Cas starts to smile but covers it by taking a drink.  
  
“You don’t even know me,” he says after.  
  
Dean gazes at Castiel, his heart softening as he speaks his next words with the most honesty he has in a while.  
  
“I know enough.”  
  
Cas’ eyes flicker up at him, and Dean notices the way his throat ripples as he swallows. Dean distracts himself from staring at the movement by taking a long drink.  
  
A silence falls over them as they sip at their coffee, Cas going back to studying what seems to be every detail of the place, Dean just watching him; though none of it is awkward in the least. Why isn’t this awkward? Almost everything between them should be awkward right now. As far as Dean knows, this shouldn’t be happening. How is it even possible they’re sitting here drinking coffee given what they’ve been through?  
  
Because honestly – just _think_ about it. They had phone sex – really, _really_ good phone sex. Dean saw Cas with a damn boner very prominent under those pajamas pants. Then Dean asked him out and was rejected. And even when it should’ve ended there, he pushed his luck by insisting they be friends. On top of that, in the same goddamn evening, Dean was privileged to hear his soon-to-be friend work his second job through their shared wall.  
  
Dean’s grip tightens around his mug. He was trying so hard to avoid thinking about it, but it’s just one more reason as to how none of this should be happening.  
  
How can they sit here knowing Cas warned Dean that _Dmitri_ was working and how Dean fucking listened anyway? It’s insane! His ways of distraction did nothing for him – upping the volume on his TV didn’t make him pay any more attention to his show. Busying his hands with methodical cooking and folding clothes didn’t occupy his mind. And when he went to bed, he strained to hear the muffled rumbles of that sultry, seductive voice.  
  
But worse than all that?  
  
How can he sit here knowing that when Cas – or Dmitri – started moaning and clearly trying to portray being on the edge, Dean got hard. It was nowhere close to being as loud or realistic as his call with Dean, but regardless, Dean’s cock begged to be touched. So much so that Dean had to sleep on the couch because he couldn’t give in. He could not get off on sounds and words that weren’t meant for him. He could not touch himself knowing the only person he’d think about is the same person he swore a friendship-only relationship to. He couldn’t do it.  
  
Yeah, none of this should be happening right now. But it is.  
  
With that final thought, he takes another drink but gets no more than a stray drop. Damn, he finished that faster than he would’ve liked. He’s not sure if Cas would be willing to stick around for another cup or hell, just to sit and talk, but Dean’s really hoping he does. He’s not ready for them to leave their little table by the window, where the hum of conversations and the soft cello have faded into silence as they’ve entered their own plane of existence. They’re only getting started.  
  
“You’re out.”  
  
The simple statement draws Dean from his thoughts, and he realizes he’s been staring into the empty mug. Probably looking like he’s mourning the loss of his coffee.  
  
“Appears so,” he mumbles.  
  
Castiel frowns, setting his mug on the table. “Me too.”  
  
Dean straightens in his chair, nervous flutters erupting in his stomach. “Well, um, did you want a second?”  
  
When Cas shakes his head, Dean’s heart drops. “I’m going to be working with ink later today, so I’d prefer not to get too wired. It’s a rather unforgiving medium.”  
  
He gives a smile he hopes isn’t showing his disappointment. “No – understandable. That’s pretty cool.”  
  
“However,” Cas continues, causing Dean to perk up a little, “I am curious as to how the tea here measures up.”  
  
Dean has to actively repress the smile that threatens to beam out of him. “Awesome. I’m not much of a tea guy, so you’ll have to let me know.”  
  
“Will do,” Cas replies with the corner of his mouth quirking upwards. Glancing over, Dean catches Kevin’s eye and motions for him to come over. When he arrives a moment later, Dean requests another cup of coffee while Cas orders green tea with honey. And given that most of the other patrons in the diner have cleared out, it only takes Benny a few minutes to bring them their drinks. Of course, not without the weird stare down between him and Cas.  
  
“I’m gonna be headin’ out soon, you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Benny asks, mostly looking to Dean.  
  
“No, that’s-“  
  
“Do you have any pastries?”  
  
Dean stops, raising his eyebrows as he looks across the table to Cas, who has a level stare on Benny.  
  
Benny looks taken aback but nods. “Blueberry and banana nut muffins. Apple cinnamon sells out fast.”  
  
Cas then turns his gaze to Dean. “Are you hungry?”  
  
Damn right he’s hungry. He only did have half of that Greek yogurt, which didn’t come remotely close to easing the emptiness in his stomach. But he’s confused – he thought there was no eating allowed? Is Cas actually some sick bastard testing him right now? Dean doesn’t want to fail, but that the same time, if this is Cas deciding to upgrade their friendship status, he definitely doesn’t want to give the wrong impression. So he shrugs instead. “Only if you are.”  
  
That’s safe, right?  
  
Cas turns back to Benny. “I’ll have a blueberry muffin.”  
  
Benny looks to Dean, looking equally as confused as Dean feels. “Make it two.”  
  
When Benny leaves to fetch their muffins, Dean turns his attention to Cas, who’s stirring his tea around with a spoon, completely oblivious to his confusion.  
  
“I would just like to point out I did not trick us into eating breakfast,” he says carefully.  
  
Cas keeps his gaze focused on the tea but there’s an amused glint in his eyes. “I know.”  
  
Dean wants to ask what made Cas change his mind, but he’s not going to question it. Maybe Cas feels the same as Dean in that this morning’s been going fairly well. And now with both another round of drinks and added muffins, it’ll last even longer.  
  
After Benny brings around their muffins, he says his farewells to the both of them – Cas seeming a little too pleased to see him go - and with his departure, Dean notices that besides Kevin, who’s busy wiping down tables while humming along to the cello playing overhead, him and Cas are the only ones in the diner. Not that it matters much because soon after they take a sip of their respective drinks and a bite of their muffins, they’re talking again, slipping back into that world that’s just big enough for the two of them.  
  
“So you’ve heard a little about my siblings. Tell me about yours,” Cas says as he licks away some of the crumb topping caught on his lip. Fuck, that tongue…  
  
“How do you even know I do have any?” Dean challenges.  
  
Cas rolls his eyes. “He was here recently on break, no?”  
  
“You stalkin’ me, Cas?”  
  
“Have you already forgotten how thin our walls are?” Cas questions, looking up from behind beneath his lashes with a mischievous glint. “I know sibling bickering when I hear it.”  
  
Dean chuckles because yes – that is very true. If Sam wasn’t giving Dean some choice words for freezing his toothbrush in a glass of water, then Dean was bitching at him for leaving his shit all over Dean’s neatly kept apartment. Then there was Monopoly night with Charlie and Dorothy which always turns the closest of brothers against each other. Thankfully though, none of their serious fights broke out during the duration of Sam’s break.  
  
“Alright, you got me,” he mumbles before launching into everything about Sam. He can’t help but brag about his little brother. He’ll never get over how proud he is of him – pre-law at Stanford University and about to graduate with his Bachelor’s. Not to mention his mind-blowing score of 174 on his LSAT. Seriously, the kid is all kinds of smart when he probably has every reason to turn out completely different. Every reason to turn out the way Dean did.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?”  
  
Dean refocuses his gaze back on Cas, losing himself in his words for a moment.  
  
“What is what supposed to mean?” he asks, honestly not having a clue what’s even coming out of his mouth at this point.  
  
“Sam had every reason to turn out the way you did. I’m curious as to what that actually means,” Cas tells him calmly as he takes a drink of his tea.  
  
Dean blinks, taken aback. He hadn’t realized he said it out loud.  
  
“You know,” he says dismissively before finishing off his muffin. This is definitely a conversation not meant to be had. Ever.  
  
Cas’ eyes are still boring into him though. “I don’t, actually.”  
  
Irritation starts to rise up in Dean because he thought shoving the muffin into his mouth was enough of a hint that he didn’t want to talk about it. “It’s plain and simple – he went to college and I dropped out of high school. That’s all.”  
  
“Dropping out of high school isn’t the equivalent to failure,” Cas says slowly.  
  
“Should I pull up some chairs and lie down for this?”  
  
Cas lets out a small huff. “All I want is to hear you speak proudly about your brother without being disappointed in yourself. I apologize if I upset you.”  
  
Dean’s shoulders drop and he hadn’t realized they became stiff and tense, but he still doesn’t say anything. He’s going to drop the subject because this is already getting too close for comfort with a guy he’s only just starting to know.  
  
“You know, I dropped out too.”  
  
That catches Dean’s attention and he glances up at Cas, who’s looking away from him now. “You did?”  
  
Cas barely nods. “I originally went to a private school to study engineering. I dropped out after the first year to pursue an art degree.”  
  
Dean’s not sure what to say. He gets the feeling that this is something very personal to Cas, something he doesn’t share with just anyone. Just like how Dean doesn’t broadcast his lack of formal education.  
  
“Engineering, huh?” he ends up saying. He can’t help but smile because wow, those are two opposite career paths. There’s just something about Cas and art that’s right though, even if Dean’s never seen his work before.  
  
Blue eyes flicker up at him, a smile playing in them and Dean’s thankful the tension’s dissipating between them.  
  
“Perhaps someday I’ll tell the story. For now, I still want to hear about your brother outside of his schooling.”  
  
And that’s that. Dean complies by telling recent stories of him and Sam and some carefully picked ones from their childhood and Cas soaks up every word. In fact, Dean finds it way too easy to tell Cas all these things. But that’s good, right? He even tells Cas about Sam’s run of bad luck with the ladies too, despite knowing Sam will kill him if he ever finds out. Seriously though - there’s just something about Sam that draws him towards the questionable ones; if they’re not incredibly suspicious or a bad influence, then they’re weirdly obsessed. And while Sam’s current girlfriend, Amelia, is the best one out of them all, she still rubs Dean the wrong way.  
  
“You can have my brother who just sleeps around,” Cas offers after hearing only some of the horrors of when Sam dated this girl named Ruby in high school.  
  
Dean laughs. “I’ll deal with Sam’s love life before I deal with a guy who ruins perfectly good coffee.”  
  
Just then, Dean notices the change in the environment since Benny left earlier. When did all these people come in? The diner is flooded and there's new smells of lunch replacing those from breakfast. Cas seems to notice too and lets out a quiet, “Whoa.”  
  
“Lunch rush already?” Dean pulls out his phone, eyes widening at the time. It’s 12:47 pm. They’ve been here nearly three hours?  
  
“I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten,” Cas says, looking at his phone as well. “I should really be getting back or else Balthazar will kill me for not getting this commission done.”  
  
Dean nods. “Say no more. I’ve got some hardcore grocery shopping to do anyway.”  
  
When Cas pulls his wallet to retrieve his part of the bill, Dean beats him to it by laying two twenties on the table, which is more than enough for the both of them combined and still leaving a decent tip for Kevin. Just as Cas begins to protest, Dean shoots him a charming smile.  
  
“You can get it next time, okay?”  
  
Cas lifts his eyebrows. “Next time?”  
  
“Only if you want.”  
  
Castiel glances towards the money, still looking like he wants to argue but gives a reluctant nod. “Alright, deal.”  
  
Dean’s smile widens. “Great. Ready to go?”  
  
Cas stands, pulling his trench coat back over his shoulders before giving an affirmative nod. “Ready.”  
  
They call out a quick goodbye to Kevin before stepping outside. “So does this place have your approval, Mr. Food Critic?” Dean teases as he pulls the keys from his pocket. Cas is focused down at his phone as they walk though, completely ignoring the question.  
  
“Uh, Earth to Cas?”  
  
That brings his attention back to Dean and he blinks, staring blankly for a moment before the question finally registers with him. “Oh – yes, everything was quite enjoyable. Thank you for bringing me here.”  
  
Dean furrows his eyebrows, wondering what changed from inside the diner to now. When they get in the Impala and Dean starts her up, Cas is back to staring at the phone, mouth slightly downturned with his eyebrows pulled together.  
  
“Everything okay over there?” Dean asks once he pulls out of the parking lot and onto the main road.  
  
His voice snaps Cas out of his staring and his hands, along with the phone, drop into his lap. Dean peeks out of the corner of his eye at the screen, only making out the white background with tiny black words stretching across the screen.  
  
Castiel answers mechanically. “In the general term, everything is fine.”  
  
“How about the not-so-general term?” Dean ventures carefully.  
  
With one last look at the phone, Cas presses the lock button so the screen goes black and he sighs. “It’s an email from Balthazar outlining the details of my upcoming event on Saturday.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wow, an event? That’s cool.”  
  
Cas snorts bitterly. “Yes, I suppose it is. After all, any work is better than none.”  
  
“But…?”  
  
“But it’s not exactly the type of work I think is appropriate for me. I’m just… disappointed it’s not more,” he murmurs.  
  
“If you don’t mind me asking – what’s the event?” Dean really hopes he’s not pushing Cas too far, but he’s beyond curious to learn more about the type of things Cas does as an artist, and especially why he’s bummed about what seems like a good thing.  
  
Cas hesitates before giving any sort of answer. “It’s a charity event to raise money to help families of children in the hospital pay for medical costs. There’s two parts to the event – a daytime festival open to the public and a dinner for the sponsors. My services have been requested for the daytime event in which I will be face painting.”  
  
Dean glances over at him with a smile. “Dude, that sounds awesome!”  
  
That only provokes a deeper frown. “I’m not saying I’m not grateful to be part of it – because I definitely am, but…” Castiel shakes his head. “Is this all I’ll ever be?” The way the words are whispered has Dean thinking they weren’t necessarily for him to hear.  
  
“Hey,” Dean’s hand twitches with the want to reach out and touch. Provide comfort. But he keeps both hands tight on the wheel. “You get to spend a day with people serving as walking canvases for you. Let them flaunt those amazing creations of yours.”  
  
The corner of Cas’ mouth quirks upwards the slightest bit and Dean considers it a win. “Thank you, Dean.”  
  
“So where’s this event being held anyway?” he asks casually, trying not to be too happy about the sincerity in Cas’ voice. But of course, he feels a suspicious glare on the side of his face.  
  
“Why?”  
  
He shrugs nonchalantly. “No reason. Just want to know where I could support the cause and maybe get my face painted. If I have time, that is.”  
  
“No. You are not allowed to come.” Dean snickers at the suggestive wording, causing Cas to huff indignantly next to him. “You know what I mean.”  
  
Biting back a smile, Dean glances over at him. “Oh, come on. _Please_?”  
  
“Why are you so interested?”  
  
Dean scoffs. “I need a reason to be interested in supporting a child with cancer?”  
  
“Well, no…”  
  
“Then I don’t understand why it’s so terrible I stop by to say hi.”  
  
Cas falls silent and Dean wonders if maybe this is taking things too fast. They’ve only gone out for coffee and a kind-of breakfast. It’s probably presumptuous of Dean to be inviting himself to one of Castiel’s events that he’ll be _working_ at. He likes the idea of having something to look forward to with Cas, to be able to see a bit of what he can create, but he’ll just have to be patient. He should count himself lucky Cas even agreed to give being friends a shot. He won’t push his limits.  
  
“You know, now that I think about it, I’ll be working anyway,” he says, breaking the quiet.  
  
“Oh.” Is that disappointment? No, can’t be.  
  
Dean pulls up in front of their apartment complex and puts the Impala in park, the engine still rumbling. “Yeah, but I’ll tell my friend Charlie about it. I’m sure she’ll seek you out. Probably bring her girlfriend too.”  
  
Cas nods. “I believe I’ve seen her a few times before. She seems like a lovely person.”  
  
“She definitely is,” he murmurs, meaning to say more, but any and all words escape him. All he’s doing is delaying the goodbye he’d rather not say. Cas is the one to say it instead.  
  
“I guess I better get going, then.” Dean’s just projecting when he hears uncertainty in the words. “Thank you for this morning. I enjoyed myself and…“ Cas starts turning the phone in his hands, avoiding eye contact as he does. Taking a decisive breath, he raises his eyes to meet Dean’s, any signs of hesitation gone.  
  
“Ah-Nab-Awen Park.”  
  
Dean scrunches his eyebrows together. “What?”  
  
“The event. That’s where it’ll be.”  
  
“Oh, tha-“  
  
“In case your friend decides she wants to stop by.”  
  
Withholding a snort, Dean nods. “I’ll let her know. Thanks.”  
  
“Good,” Cas says firmly before opening the passenger door, stepping one leg out before he stops and looks back at Dean. “And just in case your work schedule allows you to come as well.”  
  
The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks upwards without his permission, but he can’t help it – he’s doing cartwheels on the inside. “I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
Castiel returns the tiniest of smiles. “Goodbye, Dean.”  
  
Dean lifts his hand in a relaxed wave. “See ya, Cas.”  
  
With that, Cas fully steps out of the car and closes the door behind him. Dean watches him stride to the building, knowing he doesn’t need to wait until Cas steps inside, but it just feels like the right thing to do. When Cas reaches the doors, he glances over his shoulder and gives Dean one last wave before disappearing inside.  
  
Dean doesn’t allow the smile to beam out of him until he shifts gears and is halfway down the road, wanting to make extra sure Cas can’t see him with some crazy, weird vision. This morning went way better than he expected. Not only did they talk and learn that much more about each other – but now Dean’s got something to look forward to. Sure, there’s no doubt they’ll see each other during the week, but it’ll be in passing moments. He’s not sure the type of schedule Cas keeps, but it’s a safe bet he spends his days doing whatever artwork he does and using his nights for his… _other_ occupation. And Dean’s got a pretty busy work load anyway. Rufus loaded up his schedule after he took off several days while Sam was in town.  
  
But it’s okay because he’s got Saturday to look forward to.  
  
If only it wasn’t six days away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry it's been a few weeks! Life got crazy with midterms and other things. But I have a mini update! As you might've read in the note for chapter 3, I wanted to experiment with releasing little timestamp-eqsue chapters that are snippets that may or may not have any relation to the plot. This is one of those chapters. I felt bad for not updating and I wanted to give you guys something while I'm still working on the next full length chapter (which is already wayy longer than this and I'm _still_ writing) and this is the 'something' that happened, lol. Thank you all for your patience, kudos, and of course those lovely comments :)
> 
> And big thank you to [Naomi](http://adoringjensen.tumblr.com) for beta-ing this so fast so I can post quicker ♥

After lifting wheels for so many years, they become second nature for Dean to handle. Building up muscle is inevitable and they don’t strain on his arms the way they did so often when he was younger. Still, it’s funny how a particularly long day, even now, can make a wheel feel as heavy as it did the first time Dean had to slide one onto a car.  
  
Once he has the wheel in place, Dean crouches down, knees achy, to hand tighten each of the five lug nuts. Man, he can’t wait to go home and flop on the couch. Or maybe the bed. Oh yes, his memory foam bed is definitely the better option. But he should probably shower first…  
  
Shaking his head, almost annoyed at the prospect of being separated from a warm, comfy bed even longer, he stands and lowers the car from its raised position. Just as he snatches the lug wrench from the ground, he almost drops it with how much the voice startles him from behind.  
  
“You’re avoiding me.”  
  
Dean scoffs, straightening his back and not bothering to look at Benny as he tightens the lug nuts more securely. “Me focusing on changing these brake pads means I’m avoiding you?”  
  
“C’mon on, Dean. I’m not stupid. You think I’m going to ask you about Sunday, so you’re avoiding me.”  
  
Dammit. Either Dean’s more of an open book than he thinks or he needs to get new friends who don’t know him so damn well. As much as he wishes they weren’t, Benny’s words are completely true. He knew when he saw Benny on Monday at work, there would be questions – questions he didn’t feel like answering because there’s nothing to say. So maybe that’s why he’s been throwing himself into work for the past two days, even doing boring, administrative shit for Rufus.  
  
“I still eat lunch with you, don’t I?” Dean grunts as he tightens the last lug nut.  
  
Benny snorts. “You mean where you make sure we talk about me or work the whole time?”  
  
Yep, he’s guilty of that too.  
  
“Well, I’m a little too busy to talk at the moment,” Dean says over his shoulder as he digs the keys from his pocket, but Benny’s right behind him, staying by his side even as he climbs into the driver’s seat to start the car and begin pumping the brakes.  
  
“Look, I’m not here to ask questions,” Benny tells him, a smallest hint of a smirk twisting his lips. “I’m simply here to let you know there’s someone who needs a car looked at before you go.”  
  
Dean looks at him with what’s sure to be a deadpan stare. “Why can’t you do it? Or Garth? Or Rufus?”  
  
Benny rolls his eyes. “I’ve got to go home, shower, and get to the diner in less than an hour. Garth’s in the middle of replacing a fuel tank and Rufus said he can’t be bothered right now. Sorry Chief – this one’s on you.”  
  
Hanging his head, Dean sighs dramatically. Looks like his warm bed will have to wait a little bit longer. “Fine, I’ll do it. I just need to test these brakes first and then I’ll head to the front.”  
  
“I’ll finish up here. You just go on ahead.”  
  
Dean’s head snaps up, looking back to Benny. “No, it’s okay, I –“  
  
“Dean, I said I’ll do it,” Benny says firmly.  
  
A tired smile pulls weakly at his mouth. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”  
  
Benny nods, stepping out of the way for Dean to climb out of the car. “Anytime, brother.”  
  
Dean claps him gratefully on the shoulder as he begins making his way back to the garage.  
  
“So is it serious?” Benny calls after him, making Dean stop in his tracks. He was too optimistic to think he’d get away with no mention of Cas. He looks over his shoulder.  
  
“He’s my neighbor – we’re just getting to know each other.”  
  
Benny nods, but it’s clear he’s skeptical. “You don’t have to avoid me, you know.”  
  
Dean grimaces, embarrassed about being called out. He needed it though. He’s acting ridiculous avoiding Benny just so he won’t have to talk about it. Charlie may like to pry sometimes, but Benny’s more relaxed.  
  
“Sorry. Force of habit, I guess.”  
  
Benny grins. “’S okay.”  
  
And with that, he slides into the car and closes the door. Dean watches him start to slowly roll down the drive, brake lights pumping every few yards, for a moment before turning back and heading into the garage. He pauses briefly to wash his hands in the ice cold water of the utility tub, calling a quick hello to Garth whose long, lanky legs are sticking out from under a car.  
  
When he arrives in the front, Krissy – the high school kid that works part time – nods towards a woman with soft looking brown hair sitting in the waiting area. Dean’s heart stutters.  
  
“Lisa?”  
  
The mention of her name has her looking up from the magazine in her hands, eyes falling on Dean. It’s only a beat of silence before a smile spreads across her mouth.  
  
“Dean – I didn’t realize this is the shop you worked at,” she says, setting the magazine aside and getting to her feet.  
  
He returns the smile. “Yeah, this is the place. Kinda small, but we keep busy.”  
  
They stare at each other for a moment and Dean wonders if this is as weird for her as it is for him.  
  
“So,” he says, clearing his throat and effectively ignoring Krissy’s quiet snort. “Having car troubles?” He barely keeps from cringing at how awkward he sounds.  
  
The question breaks Lisa out of her reverie and she nods. “Yes, actually. There was a small accident and I need some repairs done. I could show you outside.”  
  
“Yeah – sure. Lead the way,” Dean says too quickly, wishing he would just calm down for five seconds.  
  
Lisa leads the way outside where a silver minivan sits; the hood crumpled, one of headlights shattered with the paint more than scraped away. Dean whistles lowly.  
  
“Fender bender?”  
  
Lisa laughs softly. “Of the sort. More like a student driver learning to reverse out of a parking spot.” She motions for Dean to follow her to the back where one of the corners is crushed inwards, the bumper hanging inelegantly from the body of the car.  
  
“Wow – was that kid driving blindfolded?” Dean murmurs, taking a step forward to get a closer look at the damage.  
  
“He pressed the gas instead of the brake, which backed him right into the van and drove it into the light post I was parked in front of,” she explains. “No one was hurt though. My son and I were in the grocery store when it happened.”  
  
Dean nods, remembering her mention she had a son when they first met. “That’s the important part,” he smiles at her before walking back towards the front of the van. “I’ll have to get a closer look to be sure, but it seems only superficial damage was done.”  
  
Lisa breaths a small sigh of relief. “Well, that’s good. How much do you think this is going to cost me?”  
  
Dean hums as he thinks before explaining what he predicts the damage will add up to. He points out which parts will need to be ordered and which they have already, cutting some of the cost of ordering, and explaining what he expects to find when he assesses the damage further. By the end, Lisa looks overwhelmed.  
  
“Hey, listen – I won’t be hurt if you want to take it to another shop for a quote. A lot of people prefer to get a second opinion.”  
  
Lisa tears her gaze away from the smashed in headlight to look at him, a smile barely touching her lips as she shakes her head. “It’s okay. I trust your judgment. It just that… are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
Lisa averts her gaze, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You know. With… us.”  
  
Ah, that. He expected it would come up sooner or later.  
  
“Lisa, that was a while ago. I thought we both agreed no hard feelings?” Dean assures her with a small smile. And really, there are no hard feelings. He and Lisa were a one-time thing that happened nearly a year ago now. She was the last good hookup he had, possibly even the one that put that unsatisfied pit in his stomach. Pair that with the killer blue eyes that had just moved in next door, it’s no wonder meaningless sex started to lose its special shine.  
  
Dean doesn’t have feelings for Lisa, but there was something about that night that always stuck with him. After they left the bar and went back to her place, she let spill that it was the first time she’s gotten the house to herself in months, saying she was ready to take advantage of the opportunity with her son being at a friend’s house for a slumber party. Hearing that shifted something in Dean – not that he even remotely wants children right now. But it’s the idea of... having more.  
  
And everything after that led him to where he is now – not having sex, exhausted of dating, and with a stupid crush on his neighbor that will only ever end in friendship.  
  
“… because that wasn’t it at all. I had a great time that night, but I didn’t have time for a relationship. You were amazing and –“  
  
Dean snaps back to the present at the sound of Lisa’s frantic speaking and he holds up a hand to stop her.  
  
“It’s okay. Really, I completely understand. I only wish we were able to meet again under different circumstances,” Dean chuckles.  
  
Lisa laughs with him, nodding in agreement. “That would be nice, yes.” She pauses, eyes flickering across his face before she adds more softly, “I always think about what a mistake I made letting you walk away. As drunk as we both were, you were always gentle and caring. You made me breakfast the next morning and did the dishes. Only the good ones would even think to do that, Dean.”  
  
He ducks his head, feeling weirdly vulnerable. “It was nothing.”  
  
“I know this is a long shot – and a guy like you probably has someone special by now – but if you’re available, would you like to go out sometime?” she asks shyly.  
  
Dean chuckles humorlessly. “No, there’s – there’s no one in the picture. But I, um, I’m not dating at the moment. I’ve tried it the past six months and…”  
  
Lisa shakes her head, smiling kindly. “It’s okay. I would’ve been disappointed with myself if I didn’t at least ask. Thank you for your help with my car.”  
  
Guilt bubbles in Dean’s chest, almost wondering if he should back track on his rejection. Lisa’s a nice girl who wants to get to know him. He’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t saying no to her because of Cas…  
  
No. He can’t. Not yet.  
  
“It’s no problem. Now, we have a few cars we let people rent if needed. We got an older model van you can use if you prefer. It’s from early 2000s, but we maintain it well,” he says, guiding her inside.  
  
While she’s filling out all the paperwork for the repairs and the rental with Krissy at the front desk, Dean makes his way to Rufus’ office to fetch the keys for the van. He doesn’t bother knocking before walking in.  
  
“We got someone dropping off a car and they need a rental in the meantime. Can I have the key to the 2002 Montana?”  
  
Rufus looks up from his paperwork, giving him a death glare as he reaches into one of the drawers of his desk to snag the key.  
  
“You know what they did to disrespectful employees back in my day?”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “You mentioned it once or twice.”  
  
Rufus grunts as he tosses the key across the room. “I ought to fire you for your attitude alone, Winchester.”  
  
“But you won’t because who else would be willing to sacrifice their Saturdays to make sure this place doesn’t plummet into the ground?” Dean smiles sweetly at him.  
  
“Yeah, yeah. And I don’t feel like dealing with Papa Bear, alright? Now get out.” Rufus looks back to his paperwork, making a shooing motion with his hand.  
  
Dean chuckles under his breath. It always irks Bobby when Rufus calls him that. He moves to leave before pausing at the doorway. He looks back at Rufus, knowing it’s probably futile to ask, but he has to. It’s Wednesday and he’s running out of time.  
  
“Hey, Rufus?”  
  
“Thought I told you to leave me be.”  
  
Dean sighs. “Have you thought about Saturday at all?”  
  
Rufus doesn’t even look up. “What about it?”  
  
He scrubs a hand down his face, hating that he has to ask all over again. It was awful enough asking him on Monday. “There’s, um, something going on this Saturday. An event. I’d like to take an hour or two off in the afternoon to go, if that’s okay.”  
  
“Dean, you know I rely on you to watch over this place. Who do you expect to take charge while you’re out?”  
  
“Come on, you know Benny –“  
  
“Is working his second job,” Rufus finishes for him. “Try again.”  
  
“Okay – how about Garth?”  
  
Rufus snorts, finally look back up at Dean. “Look, he’s handy with a wrench, but that don’t mean he can run this place alone. Not without me trusting he can do it.”  
  
Dean’s hands tighten around the keys. “You don’t trust anyone to run this place. Hell, it took you so long to even let me keep the shop open on Saturdays.”  
  
Rufus purses his lips as he thinks for about three seconds before looking back down to his paperwork.  
  
“No.”  
  
Dean wants to argue further, but it’s pointless. Rufus isn’t going to change his mind, especially now that Dean’s probably gotten under his skin. Without another word, he turns and storms across the garage to get Lisa’s replacement van, ignoring Garth’s calls of concern.  
  
Looks like he really was right. He won’t be seeing Cas after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

It’s strange.  
  
It’s strange how a person can stare at one point in space, their focus completely devoid of anything else but that one object. Or spot on the wall. Or speck of dust on a table. The object really doesn’t matter though because the world goes blurry as the eyes become unfocused. And yet, they never leave that one point that entranced them to begin with, even if they’re not actually _seeing_ it anymore.  
  
It’s strange how people can fall into these trances without realizing it. One minute, they’re looking at the speck on the table or the spot on the wall, and the next… the world around them is empty with the exception of the thoughts floating in their mind.  
  
Maybe this isn’t so strange though. Maybe it’s amazing that the human mind can eliminate everything it doesn’t want to see; block out everything that isn’t its own thought. Maybe instead of being unfocused, that is the most focused a person can be.  
  
Castiel shakes himself out of the trance, his eyes refocusing back so the blurry shapes around him reveal his apartment once again; and with it, the object that sent Castiel into the reverie to begin with. He sighs, letting his eyes flicker over the black ink prominent against the off-white of the paper, the smooth lines, both thick and delicate, the diluted areas that give the idea of shadows and texture.  
  
Balthazar is not going to be happy. Castiel was supposed to spend this week working on that ink commission that he’ll be expected to hand over within the next couple days. And if he wasn’t working on that, then he should’ve been practicing his designs for the event.  
  
Not painting a minimalistic ink portrait of Dean Winchester’s profile.  
  
But is he really to blame here? It’s not his fault Dean has such aesthetically pleasing features that Castiel had the opportunity to observe up close on Sunday. It would have been a waste not to paint the beautiful profile he had trouble tearing his eyes away from while he rode shotgun next to Dean. As a person whose job it is to paint beautiful things and offer them to the world, it would’ve been a disservice to let such a sight go unpainted.  
  
Although, that might be hypocritical to think, given Castiel has no desire to share this painting with anyone other than himself.  
  
Taking a drink of his coffee, Castiel lets his gaze travel over Dean’s profile once again. He’ll admit he’s happy with how it came out. Ink is tricky because it can be rather watery and make unsightly drips where they shouldn’t. It’s also tricky in that any thin lines must be done correctly on the first stroke, otherwise maintaining the integrity of the clean thinness is difficult and will most likely be thicker than desired. Every mistake is heightened in ink. But yet, it’s the medium Castiel found himself most attracted to over his time studying art.  
  
Castiel worked too long and hard on this though, especially for a work he won’t make any profit from whatsoever. He ensured Dean’s eyelashes were thin and sweeping rather than a clumpy mess. He was careful in adding diluted ink to contour the side of his face and jaw, enhancing the gentle curve of his lips as they quirk up the tiniest bit. Dean’s hair probably took the longest though. Castiel experimented a couple hours on a separate piece of paper to find the right brush for the texture, the right thickness of the strands of hair that spiked upwards but appeared fluffy at the same time, and especially the right shade of black so it didn’t look too dark or too light. He likes to think he did Dean justice in his artistic recollection.  
  
Of course, however, nothing beats the real thing.  
  
Draining the last of his coffee, Castiel drags himself to his feet to set the mug in the sink, grimacing at the time displayed on his stove clock. It’s not even 7:45 am yet. Who is even awake at this ungodly hour?  
  
Well, Castiel knows one person who is.  
  
In the midst of his battle with the snooze button, he listened to the sounds coming from the other side of the wall. There was faint music, the shower being turned on – which had Castiel fidgeting under his covers from the images being conjured in his head – then off about ten minutes later, the soft timber of Dean’s voice singing as he walked around, the occasional drawer opening and closing. It was nice to hear the relaxed way Dean went about his morning routine. It was only until Castiel heard Dean leave around 6:30 am that he decided he should finally get up and start getting ready.  
  
He can’t imagine waking up this early to go to work. How does Dean do it?  
  
Just then, Castiel’s phone rings from inside his pocket and he fishes it out. He doesn’t even get a greeting in before Balthazar is talking at him.  
  
“Do you need help carrying down your supplies?”  
  
Castiel stifles a sarcastic greeting. “No, I’ll be fine. Are you close?”  
  
“Coming down the street now. Get your ass down here.”  
  
The line goes dead and Castiel rolls his eyes. Replacing the phone back in his pocket, he crosses the room to grab his trench coat from the closet and pulls it on. He reaches down to unlock the handle on the mini luggage-type container that has all the art supplies he could possibly need for the day and pulls it up until it stops at his waist. He opens the door and rolls it out into the hallway, pausing to lock up behind him before making his way to the ground floor.  
  
He emerges from the building, not at all surprised to see Balthazar’s car waiting by the curb. After he hoists his supplies into the back seat of Balthazar’s SUV and finally settles into the passenger seat, the door is barely closed before Balthazar is zooming off.  
  
“You’re going to kill us,” Castiel grumbles, gripping the handle on the ceiling as Balthazar swerves around a biker going too slow for his liking, apparently. “And anyone in our path.”  
  
“We’re going to be late for set up,” Balthazar answers curtly.  
  
“Maybe if you weren’t late picking me up,” he mutters under his breath.  
  
“Castiel,” Balthazar warns, “Are you sure you really want to go there with me?”  
  
He scoffs. “I don’t have anything to do with you waking up late.”  
  
Balthazar turns his head to glare at him, which further stresses Castiel’s nerves because they’re not exactly going slow right now. “Perhaps not, but there’s the little fact that I had to pick you up. Or am I wrong?”  
  
“Balthazar,” he groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. He’s tired of having this conversation. That doesn’t stop Balthazar from pressing on though.  
  
“When are you going to get a damn car, Cassie? I can’t chauffeur your ass around all the time.”  
  
“Please, for the sake of our lives, keep your eyes on the road,” Castiel tells him dryly. Balthazar gives him a withering look but returns his attention to the road. “And I never ask you to drive me anywhere. I’m perfectly comfortable taking the bus.”  
  
“As your friend, I will not allow you to ride those awful buses –“  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with the bus. A lot of people rely on public transportation.”  
  
“ _And_ ,” Balthazar continues talking over him, “As your agent, I can’t have my client showing up to meetings and events on a fucking bus. Imagine if you had to cart that ridiculous piece of luggage on a crowded, stuffy bus. It’s unprofessional, Castiel.”  
  
Castiel opens his mouth to refute, but nothing comes out. Balthazar’s right. With him starting to find new clients to represent, he won’t always be there to drive Castiel to his meetings and events. And despite Castiel not caring much about taking the bus to get around – it’s what he does without Balthazar anyway – he imagines what his client might think if they saw him stepping off a bus with all his art gear in tow, or even a completed work. It’s a superficial thought, but this can be a rather superficial business.  
  
Dammit, he really hates when Balthazar’s right.  
  
“I’m trying,” he sighs tiredly. “But you know perfectly well how few commissions I get and I’m taking all the calls I can for _Angel Voices_ , but Crowley’s being stingy on the pay with the start-up. I’m able to make rent, but all extra cash goes towards the phone and internet bills, groceries and loan payments. And you know quality grade art supplies aren’t cheap by any means.”  
  
Balthazar glances over at him, eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying, Cassie. I’m just being an ass because I didn’t have time to make coffee.”  
  
Castiel waves off the apology. “It’s fine. You’re right, anyway. A car is an expense I need to factor into my monthly budget. I’ll figure something out.”  
  
“Maybe you should call up that scandalous big brother of yours for some cash. Wasn’t he working to be a big shot in Hollywood?” Balthazar suggests jokingly.  
  
Castiel snorts. “That’s what he said when he called two months ago. I’m guessing it’s not going according to plan given his phone’s been off since. I’m sure I’ll be getting a postcard soon enough.”  
  
Come to think of it, it’s been a couple weeks since the last postcard. Since Gabriel left home, he’s been living a nomad’s life, going wherever he can hitch a ride. Castiel has no idea how he does it – hopping place to place and living in motels. Well, that’s not true. He once asked Gabriel how he affords his travels and the answer was a simple but disturbing one – pornography. He hustles money at bars too, but his bigger checks come from the special movies he occasionally does.  
  
Castiel shudders at the thought. Sure, he may be in a similar line of work to make ends meet, but it’s not exactly something he’d like to imagine his brother doing. With such an unstable source of income, Gabriel goes through periods of feast or famine – staying in nice hotels and eating at quality restaurants to scraping together enough for a motel room and whatever he can get from a McDonald’s dollar menu. This must be a period of famine if Gabriel’s been unable to pay his phone bill and can only communicate with Castiel through postcards from Gas n’ Sips.  
  
Balthazar shakes his head. “How do you not worry about him?”  
  
Castiel stares out the windshield. “I do. Every day.”  
  
He can’t let that worry eat away at him though, or else he might go insane. Gabriel’s the only blood-related family Castiel truly has, the only one to show him any kind of support. He tells Gabriel time and time again to pick one place and settle down – maybe even come to Grand Rapids - but Gabriel does what he wants. He wants adventure and fun and freedom. Castiel has a sneaking suspicion though he just doesn’t want to be found by their parents. Understandably so.  
  
“He’ll call soon. Gabriel always finds a way,” Balthazar reassures him.  
  
Castiel nods, letting the conversation end there and keeping his eyes focused out the window where the reaching buildings grow larger. Gabriel isn’t avoiding him. Gabriel didn’t abandon him too.  
  
He’ll call. He will.  
  


*****

“So if Fate stops by, don’t tell her I’m here.”

Castiel rolls his eyes but doesn’t pause in unpacking his paints. “I wouldn’t have given you her number had I’d known you were only interested in one night.”

“Cassie, don’t you know by now I’m not interested in going to movies or having brunch dates? I simply do not have the time for a relationship – nor does the idea of being tied down appeal to me.”

Castiel glares over at him lounging lazily in his chair. “The whole reason I gave you her number was because you said you’d go to dinner with her.”

Balthazar waves his hand dismissively. “I did. And afterwards, we went back to my place and had some _dessert_.”

Shaking his head, Castiel returns his attention back to setting up his paints and arranging his brushes. “You’re an awful person. You must have some ounce of self-awareness, don’t you?”

There’s a chuckle behind him. “And yet we’re still friends. What does that say about _your_ self-awareness, hm?” Castiel decides not to answer him and Balthazar takes that as an invitation to keep talking – as if he ever needs one. “Besides, she was too stuffy and serious. When you said she worked for _Angel Voices_ , I thought she’d be a bit more fun. I’ve never met a librarian that takes her job so seriously.”

“Believe it or not, Balthazar, I’m not the only one trying to create a career outside of adult entertainment. Yes, being a librarian is her passion. There’s nothing wrong with that. She’s still a nice girl.”

“If you like her so much, why aren’t you dating her?” he fires back.

“You know I’m not dating at the moment.”

“Right.” The chair creaks as Balthazar gets to his feet, a smirk evident in his voice. “Because of that neighbor of yours, right? Mr. Phone Sex – what was his name again?”

Castiel takes a small breath, keeping his annoyance in check because it would only fuel Balthazar’s fire. “Dean. And no – he has nothing to do with my not dating.”

“Aw, did you two not reconcile after your night of passion and fire?”

“Balthazar.”

“What? I recall being caught in between all that sexual tension, so forgive me for being curious as to whether anything more has happened between you two.”

Castiel bites his lip, unsure whether to confess that he and Dean had breakfast together the next day. He’s not ready for the endless teasing that’ll come from it, but knowing Balthazar, he’ll find out one way or another and that’ll be something Castiel never lives down. It’d look way more suspicious if he hid it.

“We had coffee on Sunday,” he admits.

“The plot thickens,” Balthazar says with mock suspense, sidling up next to Castiel as he mindlessly arranges and rearranges his paints just to keep his hands busy. “Coffee dates are nice. Less serious than a dinner date, but they have all the potential to lead to something more. Who broke the ice for that to happen?”

“Well – Dean did. He needed to borrow some sugar. When I went next door he asked if we could get coffee and get to know each other.” It’s not the complete truth, but if he tells Balthazar Dean asked him out and Castiel turned him down, they’ll probably be escorted from the event with the gasket Balthazar is sure to blow.

“Ah, very noble of him. So how did the date go? I suspect it went well if you didn’t tell me about it sooner – which I will excuse this one time, by the way.”

Now’s the time to get Balthazar off his back. If Castiel doesn’t put his foot down now, he’ll never be left alone.

“Dean and I are just friends.”

Balthazar laughs. Actually laughs.

“Come on, Cassie. You can’t honestly expect…” He trails off at the deadpan expression Castiel gives him. “Seriously? That’s just not possible. No one stays friends with their hook ups. I am concrete evidence of that.”

Castiel scoffs. “Yes, and you’re such a role model.”

“That’s beside the point,” Balthazar huffs. “You like him, Castiel. Why would you torture yourself with just remaining friends when you could have more?”

Castiel turns his back to grab a small rag to wipe down the handheld mirror used to let people look at their finished designs. “I’m not torturing myself. I enjoyed getting to know Dean and frankly, it’s a relief not to have the stress of dating hanging over our heads. After spending time with him, I realized it’s better to have him as a friend than to not have him at all.”

“And you honestly believe that.”

Castiel sets the mirror down harder than he intends and spins around to glare at Balthazar. “Yes, I do.”

Balthazar raises his eyebrows, unfazed by the bite in his tone. “Have it your way, then. I’m going to fetch some coffee. And don’t forget to change.” He starts to walk out of the shade of their small tent, grabbing the neon pink shirt left by one of the event coordinators and tossing it at Castiel.

He catches it, watching his friend go with a small sigh. Balthazar doesn’t believe him one bit and this probably isn’t the end of the conversation. It especially won’t be the end of the conversation if Dean shows up today – and Castiel is definitely going to ignore the little flutter in his stomach at the idea.

No, they’re just friends. Friendship is better than a relationship because relationships fail. Too much gets invested in relationships and people – mostly just Castiel – get hurt. He’s determined to keep Dean as long as he can, and that won’t happen if they’re anything more than friends.

With a firm nod to himself, he pulls the brightly colored shirt over his head and skillfully sheds the other t-shirt underneath without needing to find a bathroom to change in. He gives his set-up one last look over before standing outside his tent to take a look at the rest of the event, using his hand to shield his eyes from the morning sunshine.

He’ll admit he’s a little jealous to be working instead of being able to attend as a guest. Everything looks spectacular. The pathway is lined with vendors and food stands, carnival games, bounce houses with slides and climbing walls set up on the grass, and there’s even a petting zoo too. The festival is catered mostly toward children and young families – given the purpose is to raise money for a similars population - but there’s still something for the adults to do too, like the live entertainment that’ll be performing throughout the day and the selection of beer from a local brewery. Overall, it looks like it should be a successful event and Castiel has a small swell of pride to be a part of it.

His wonderings are interrupted as an event coordinator approaches him to look over his set up and check if he needs anything more. It’s not even five minutes later before Balthazar returns with a to-go cup of coffee and music is being piped through the speakers lined every so often around the path, signaling that it’s nine o’clock.

Show time.

While he waits for his first guest, he decides to paint Balthazar’s face in hopes it’ll serve as a kind of advertisement for others to do the same. He makes Balthazar close his eyes while he paints a pink cupcake with white frosting and a bright red cherry on his cheek, getting a good laugh out of Balthazar’s protest upon seeing the creation.

“Castiel, what in God’s name did you do to my face?”

“Perhaps you’ll look less scary to the children now.”

“You think this is funny.”

“I am a professional – I take my work very seriously.”

“Whatever. I get to paint your face then.”

“You touch my paints and I’ll have security escort you out.”

Balthazar grumbles as he drinks his coffee, moving to sit in the extra chair they requested just for him. Castiel’s still chuckling to himself as he decides to give himself a small design too since there’s still some time before the wave of people make it to where his tent is stationed. He settles on painting a simple white daisy on his cheek with cartoon-esque bumble bees buzzing around it, letting a few fly up the side of his face and around his eye.

By the time he’s done, the foot traffic has finally reached them and with it, his first customer – a little girl no more than five years old – is begging her parents for the full face Queen Elsa design. Castiel already knows he’ll be getting a lot of Elsa and Anna requests. Regardless, the parents concede to their daughter’s begging and lift her up onto the raised chair upon Castiel’s request. From there, time is a blur.

One after the other, Castiel paints faces. It’s actually a lot of fun. It takes him back to when he did this in high school. Working with children can be difficult sometimes – he’s had a misplaced brush stroke more times than he can count – but he doesn’t mind. It’s all worth it to see the way the children’s eyes light up and they beam out those toothy smiles upon seeing themselves in the mirror.

Balthazar’s a great help too. He chats with the waiting parents while Castiel focuses on talking with the children and even cleans Castiel’s brushes for him whenever they get swamped and there’s a line. If it weren’t for Balthazar, Castiel would probably forget to stay hydrated and steal a bite of some snack to keep his energy up.

The hours fly by so fast that Castiel’s honestly surprised when it is 2:30 and it’s the first time there’s been a lull. Probably because there’s a popular local band currently performing on the stage a ways down the path from him. He flops in his chair with a sigh, not realizing how sore his legs got with being on them for the past five-ish hours.

“You need lunch.”

Castiel glances over at Balthazar, who looks mildly concerned. “Not sure I’ll be able to eat much. Someone could walk up any moment.”

Balthazar rolls his eyes. “You refused to take your fifteen minute break at eleven and you were supposed to get thirty minutes at 12:30. You’ve barely had anything to eat since this morning.”

“I ate a granola bar twenty minutes ago. I’m fine.”

“I think you mean two hours ago,” Balthazar tells him dryly.

Castiel scrunches his eyebrows. “Really? Are you sure?”

Balthazar chuckles as he stands. “Okay, I’m going to get you some real food. You’ll be fine without me?”

“I’ll manage somehow,” he sighs dramatically, fighting off a smirk.

Once Balthazar leaves, Castiel uses the time to sip at a bottle of water and appreciate the beauty of the day. It’s sunny and bright today, chilly in the shadows but pleasantly warm in the sunshine. Not at all bad for Michigan in March. It’s probably lower 50s, which means people are taking full advantage of walking around in light coats, some even going without a coat. He could’ve probably left his trench at home if he wanted. Being in the Midwest, it’s difficult to tell if the nice weather is here to stay, but whenever these days come around, people take full advantage of them.

Dean must be enjoying the weather. The other day – Wednesday, was it? – Castiel caught Dean in the hallway when he was coming home from work. They chatted briefly and in the quick exchange, Dean mentioned something about being able to leave the garage doors open and get fresh air from all the gas and oil fumes without ‘freezing their asses off’ in the meantime. Perhaps Dean’s doing just that now; working under the hood of some car while the gentle breeze rolls into the garage.

Or maybe…

Maybe Dean will be able to enjoy the weather here instead. Maybe his work schedule will allow him to stop by and say ‘hi’ the way he originally alluded to. Maybe he’ll see all the painted faces walking around and…

Castiel shakes his head. Enough thinking about Dean. If he comes, he comes. If not, then that’s fine too. Dean is under no obligation to stop by.

Just as Castiel is reminding himself of this, two girls around his age pause in front of the tent, a tall brunette and a much shorter red head. The brunette one leans over to whisper in the redhead’s ear, who has a smile pulling at her lips as she nods to whatever the girl says to her. The smiling one looks familiar, but Castiel can’t place where he might’ve seen her from.

“Hello. Interested in getting your face painted?” he asks, getting up from his chair. He feels a little silly because they’re not even looking at the poster with all the designs on it. They’re just staring at him with grins on their faces.

The girls exchange a look and it’s evident they’re having a whole conversation just between their eyes. The redhead starts to look impatient and… pleading? But the brunette just raises her eyebrows in what can only be taken as a warning and the other girl huffs a small breath before turning back to Castiel.

“Yes, definitely! We’ve seen your work walking around everywhere.”

Castiel blushes softly and approaches them, gesturing to the poster. “All the designs are on here, but I can always modify colors if you have another preference.”

The redhead jumps up onto the chair, smile bright on her face. “I want a rainbow, please.”

Castiel grins at her decisiveness, moving to gather the appropriate brushes. “One rainbow coming up. Would you like sparkles too?”

The girl’s eyes widen. “Oh hell yeah.”

The brunette scoffs. “You’re not coming near me then.”

The other girl gives her a suggestive smile. “You say that now.”

That earns her an eye roll. “Sit still so he can paint your rainbow.”

Smiling to himself, Castiel starts on a fluffy white cloud high on the girl’s cheek. “I assure you I can handle extra movements. Children tend to bounce and turn their heads a lot.”

“I’ll bet. So that must mean you’re pretty good with kids, huh?” The redhead asks with a leading tone. But to where, Castiel has no idea.

He gives a small shrug. “I guess you’d have to be to accept this job.”

“Interesting. Very interesting,” the girl murmurs under her breath. He’s beginning to feel uneasy, as if he were part of some test he didn’t realize he was taking. He isn’t able to get in another word before another question is fired at him. “So what other type of art do you do?”

“Charlie,” the brunette warns.

Castiel’s hand freezes, eyebrows pulling together at the name.

Charlie…. Charlie….

_Charlie!_

Shit – this is Dean’s friend! That’s why she looked familiar. He’s seen her a couple times in passing in the lobby or the hallway, but he never allowed himself to linger more than a polite nod or wave to her and Dean so he never got a good look at her face.

“Oh – you’re Dean’s-“

“Castiel, right?”

He nods, heart pounding in his chest. Why is he so nervous all of a sudden? “Y-yes. Or, um, Cas. Either works.”

Charlie grins at him. “I guess you’ve figured out who I am.”

He makes his hands start moving again, needing to focus on something other than _Dean’s friend_ sitting right in front of him. “Dean mentioned you might stop by. I thought you looked vaguely familiar. I’m sorry I didn’t-“

He stops his mumblings when Charlie gives a light laugh. “It’s okay. I was told not to ambush you, so we went with anonymity until the ice was broken.”

“Which you did not do a very good job of,” the other girl huffs, but it’s more amused than annoyed.

“You’re the one who said my name,” Charlie protests, sticking her tongue out before returning her attention back to Castiel. “And that’s my girlfriend, Dorothy. She’s not always this grumpy.”

“I’m grumpy because you promised you wouldn’t scare the poor guy. Dean’s not going to be too happy about that,” Dorothy replies.

Charlie snorts. “I can handle Dean.”

Castiel can’t help but latch onto Dorothy’s comment though and curiosity flares up in him as he picks up a clean brush to start on the rainbow. “Dean warned you about scaring me?”

Dorothy smirks. “You can’t honestly say you weren’t a little intimidated by her. And that was her on her good behavior.”

Okay, so she has a point there.

“Take it as a compliment,” Charlie interjects. “He doesn’t tell me to behave myself unless he’s worried about keeping the person I might scare off.”

Castiel’s heart skips at her words and there’s a blush threatening to spread all the way to his ears. He’s not exactly sure what to say in response, but thankfully he doesn’t get the chance before Balthazar is strolling into the tent with a giant basket of fries.

“I figured I’d get you finger food since you’re so adamant against eating an actual meal.”

Castiel clears his throat and nods. “Thank you.”

“Oh god – we didn’t interrupt your break, did we?” Charlie asks, eyes going wide.

“I wish. But this stubborn ass refuses to take one,” Balthazar grumbles and Castiel shoots him a look before turning back to Charlie with a reassuring smile.

“You’re fine. It’s the least I can do for you taking the time to seek me out.”

“Seek you out?” Balthazar asks, his interest clearly having been piqued.

“Yes, my girlfriend wouldn’t rest until we met Castiel,” Dorothy explains.

And here’s where everything goes downhill.

“Really? I didn’t realize you had such a fan base, Castiel.” He doesn’t have to turn around to know there’s an annoying smile spread wide across Balthazar’s face.

“You can thank our friend, Dean. He’s the one who told us he’d be here today,” Charlie supplies. Castiel tries not to openly cringe as he steps back, focusing instead on scrutinizing the rainbow curved up and around Charlie’s eye.

“Oh yes, Dean and I have met once before,” Balthazar says, stepping up next to him as he bites into a fry. Castiel withholds an eye roll as he ignores him and hands Charlie the mirror.

“If you’d like me to change anything, I’d be happy to.”

Charlie takes the mirror and looks at her reflection, her seemingly ever present smile growing brighter. “It’s perfect! Thank you so much, Castiel. I love it. And now,” Charlie hands him back the mirror before hopping off the chair and setting a mischievous gaze on Dorothy. “I believe it’s your turn.”

Dorothy smiles, eyes lingering on Charlie’s face. “You should wear rainbows all the time.”

Charlie blushes before reaching out to pull her girlfriend closer. “Flattering won’t get you out of face painting.”

Castiel’s heart warms at the sight of them. Okay, he’ll admit he does miss that part of being in a relationship. “Have you decided on a design?”

Dorothy takes her place in the chair. “Not exactly.”

“How about a butterfly mask?” Charlie suggests.

Dorothy makes a face. “No way.”

“Okay. What about a cat? You’d be an adorable little kitten!” Charlie almost sounds like she’s pleading.

“Charlie, be serious.”

“I am! But fine, no cat. What about –“

Castiel lets them debate over Dorothy’s design while he busies himself with cleaning his brushes. Only he doesn’t get very far before Balthazar’s taking them from his hands and shoving the basket of fries at him.

“I’m not asking anymore, Cassie. Eat now or I’ll tell them an embarrassing story about you, which I’m sure they’ll report back to Dean with.”

Castiel tries to glare but ends up sighing and taking the fries. His nerves of meeting Dean’s friends have curbed his hunger, but he’s still got an hour and a half until the event is over and he’ll need something to hold him over. He munches on the fries, amused at the sight of Charlie and Dorothy bickering over designs while enjoying a quiet Balthazar, who’s taking the downtime to answer emails on his phone.

“Too bad there’s not a _Wizard of Oz_ design. Wouldn’t that be funny?” he catches Charlie saying, to which Dorothy laughs.

“You’re lucky you’re cute. If anyone else made such a terrible pun on our first date, I wouldn’t have called afterwards.”

Castiel sets aside the fries, wiping his fingers on a napkin before approaching them. “I’m not supposed to do custom designs, but I’m willing to bend the rules.” Both girls look over at him, eyebrows rising.

“You’d paint me a custom _Wizard of Oz_ design?” Dorothy asks.

He shrugs. “If you’re okay with this being my first time painting anything of the sort.”

Dorothy and Charlie share a look before nodding with appreciative smiles. “That would be awesome. That movie is a little sentimental for us,” Charlie explains.

“Is there a story behind that?” Castiel asks as he gathers all the necessary brushes and scoping out which colors he wants to use.

There’s a muffled ringing sound that has Charlie pulling her phone from her pocket, lips quirking into a smile when she looks at the screen before looking back up to Castiel and Dorothy. “You tell the story. I gotta take this real quick.” She doesn’t wait for any acknowledgement before answering the call and walking out of earshot. He watches her go curiously before turning back to Dorothy.

“You’re okay with a semi-full face design?”

She nods. “I’m sure whatever you make will look beautiful.”

Decided, Castiel dips his brush into the white paint to start outlining his design. “I’d also love to hear that story Charlie mentioned.”

“It’s really cheesy,” Dorothy laughs softly. “Charlie and I met at a bar. We had kind of a wild night – karaoke and shots were involved – and ended up going home together. We both knew it was going to be a one-time thing. But the next day, we found it a little hard to say goodbye and just stop seeing each other. We exchanged numbers and decided to keep in touch. We talked for a bit until Charlie was the one to ask for us to go on an official date.”

Dorothy pauses as Castiel holds up a hand to cut in. “I’ll just need you to close your right eye.”

She complies and just closes both of her eyes instead. Castiel dips a brush in a light blue color and begins painting the upper right quadrant of her face while she continues with the story.

“So then we had our first date. Charlie got us tickets to see an old, classic movie at the theater but she wouldn’t tell me what was playing. Turns out, it was _The Wizard of Oz_. Afterwards, when I asked her why she choose that movie over the others, she said it was simply because my name’s Dorothy. And that was it.”

Castiel smiles to himself. “That’s a wonderful story. Good stories like that are hard to come by these days.”

“I don’t know, Cassie. I’ve heard a few gems myself recently,” Balthazar decides to pipe up, which Castiel glares at him for. Balthazar winks at him and Castiel focuses on getting a fresh brush for the almost lime green color he plans to use next for most of her face.

“Ignore him,” Castiel tells her, to which she laughs.

“So yeah, that’s about the cheesiest thing to ever happen to me. And if it were anyone else but Charlie, I probably would’ve conveniently lost the number.”

Castiel glances over at Charlie, whose gaze is actually trained on him before looking away quickly. Huh. Could she being talking to…

He mentally slaps himself and pushes the question away. He won’t let himself wonder if a certain individual who just happens to be friends with these two women will be stopping by. So instead, he buries himself in brush strokes and bringing his design to life across Dorothy’s face. He purposely makes sure not to glance at Charlie when she returns from her phone call.

Charlie does most of the chatting while Castiel works. Dorothy joins in when it’s not necessary for her to keep her mouth still, but most of the conversation revolves around Charlie trying to educate him on something called LARP. She had mentioned it in passing to Dorothy and Castiel made the grave mistake of inquiring about it. Even after listening to her talk about it for ten or so minutes, he couldn’t even say what exactly it is.

It takes Castiel longer than any other of the designs, but he’s satisfied for what he’s been able to create within a reasonable amount of time. Stepping back, he analyzes every little detail of his work before giving a small smile and handing Dorothy the mirror.

“Oh, wow,” she breathes as she stares at her reflection.

Charlie, who Castiel asked to avert her eyes so she could also be surprised, turns and her jaw drops at the sight.

“Holy shit, Cas,” she gapes, staring wide-eyed at the design.

“Do you like it?” he asks, unable to stop the blush this time from warming his cheeks. They both look at him as if he’d just insulted them.

“Like it? It’s _beautiful_ ,” Dorothy says as a smile breaks out over her face. Castiel takes another moment to study his craftsmanship once again – the yellow brick road winding down from Dorothy’s eye, the rainbow fanning out and down the opposite cheek, the shimmering Emerald City painted on her eyelid, the towers reaching into the space under her eyebrow, all the vibrant colors brought together with the red lipstick she’d already been wearing. Yes, this is definitely something Castiel can be proud for.

“Thank you for allowing me to stretch my creative wings. Not many people would be so willing to offer their face for the sake of art.”

Charlie snorts. “No, no, we should be thanking you! This is amazing, Castiel, and we’re honored to have been touched by your talent.”

“If you’re impressed by this, you should see his other work,” Balthazar says as he gets up from his chair to get a closer look at the design.

“I can only imagine. We’d love to see it sometime, if you’d allow us,” Dorothy says with a kind smile.

Castiel starts to shake his head and deflect the compliments when a voice stops him.

“I’d love to see it myself.”

Heart jumping into his throat, Castiel tears his gaze away from Dorothy to stare over her shoulder at Dean.

Dean, who’s wearing oil smeared jeans and a light grey t-shirt stained with grease that really accentuates the muscle of his arms in a way Castiel hasn’t been privileged to see before. Dean, whose hair is spiked up just right and who has dark smudges on his skin.

“Nice to see you too, Cas,” Dean grunts as he steps into the shade of the tent.

Castiel shakes himself from his daze, becoming aware of how terribly obvious it was that he was staring.

“I didn’t think you were going to stop by,” he says, immediately regretting it. His tone makes it sound like he’s unhappy Dean’s here but it’s not that at all. He’s just taken off guard.

“Well, well. It’s nice to see you again, Dean,” Balthazar chimes in, sounding too smug for his own good.

Dean’s gaze flickers from Castiel to Balthazar, looking uncomfortable under his attention, but he offers a smile nonetheless. “Uh, same to you. Nice cupcake, by the way.”

Balthazar opens his mouth to retort but then his phone rings in his hand, cutting him off and he looks at the number unhappily. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some business to attend to.” And with that, he answers the call and walks away in search of a quieter place to talk.

At that point, a family with three children approaches the tent, inquiring if Castiel is still painting. The question has Dorothy quickly vacating the chair, but he tells the three of them they’re welcome to stay, which they seem happy about.

He listens to Charlie and Dorothy try to convince Dean to get his face painted while he works on painting a puppy design on a little boy. His nerves skyrocket, feeling Dean’s heavy gaze on him as he works, silently cursing himself when he fumbles the brush or misplaces a stroke. Mistakes aside, all three children are happy with their designs and the parents pay and thank Castiel for his work before they’re on their way.

Castiel takes advantage of the lull by fetching his water and sipping at it, watching in amusement as Charlie and Dorothy try to pick a design for Dean, despite the fact that he’s said no probably twenty times now. When Dean glances over at him, Castiel just gives him a sympathetic smile and a small shrug in response.

A thought occurs to him then, a curiosity he’s had since last week. Castiel asks Charlie how she liked Dean’s pie – assuming she’s the one Dean made it for - that he made her last week with the sugar Castiel lent him. Charlie gives him a confused look, making Castiel doubt himself. Maybe he got it wrong. Maybe the pie was actually for someone else. But Dean’s quick to jump in and remind her.

“Come on, Charlie. You know, _the pie_ I baked for you last week because I’m such a nice guy?”

Charlie gives him a strange look before a smile slowly spreads over her face. “Oh, _right_. I remember now. Yeah - Dean’s baking is always excellent!”

Castiel’s confused at Dean’s bright blush, but then figures he must get embarrassed by compliments, which Castiel easily relates to.

Balthazar returns soon after from his phone call, looking all sorts of annoyed. “I’m sorry, Cassie,” he says, approaching the tent. “I’ve got an emergency meeting with another client. Hopefully it won’t take long and I can be back before four to take you home.”

Castiel waves him off. “It’s alright, Balthazar. It’s a nice day and I can wait here until you get back. Or I can call a Lyft or an Uber to take me home.”

“You need a ride home after this?” Dean cuts in, drawing Castiel and Balthazar’s attention.

“No, it’s fi-“

“Yes he does,” Balthazar speaks over him. Castiel sets a glare on him before turning back to Dean.

“You don’t have to do that, Dean. I promise I’ll be fine.”

Dean snorts. “Like hell. I have to pass our complex anyway to get back to work. It’s no problem.”

Balthazar clasps his hands together, a smile wide across his face. “Great! I expect a call later, Cassie.”

And just like that, Balthazar is striding back out of the tent, leaving him alone with Dean and Charlie and Dorothy. He glares at Balthazar’s retreating figure, only interrupted by Charlie’s voice.

“Crap, it’s 3:20 already? Dorothy and I still want to see if we can snag some of the free stuff before the vendors pack up.”

Castiel looks to them, giving a polite smile. “Thank you for stopping by. It was lovely to meet both of you.”

He’s taken aback as Charlie surges forward to wrap her arms around him, going stiff in her embrace but she doesn’t take offense by it. She simply pulls back with sparkling eyes, grinning up at him.

“We should be thanking you. You did awesome work, Cas. We hope Dean isn’t too shy in bringing you around more often.”

Castiel quirks a smile, feeling warm at her words. Making friends has never been Castiel’s strong suit, so the fact that Charlie would like to see him again… It’s a nice feeling.

“I’d like that too.”

Dorothy doesn’t hug him like Charlie, but she does offer him a warm smile and thanks him again for her design. Dean says his goodbyes too, although not without a glare at Charlie. And then all too quickly, they’re alone.

“Have you decided about getting your face painted?” Castiel asks. He busies himself with cleaning off his brushes from the previous family.

Dean chuckles under his breath. “Sure, why not?”

His heart flutters, but Castiel keeps a calm exterior and motions towards the tall chair. “Got anything in mind?”

“Batman.”

When Castiel looks at Dean, he takes in the smirk and the slight wiggle of his eyebrows, prompting a snort from him.

“A fan, I presume?”

Dean laughs. “Something like that.”

They fall silent as Castiel begins painting black paint over Dean’s face, almost sad to be covering up the freckles he’s just been able to get a proper look at for the first time. In fact, being this close to Dean is actually a lot harder than he thought. Those green eyes are trained on him and it takes every bit of strength not to look into them, wondering how many shades of green make up the beautiful hue he sees from afar or whether there’d be flecks of gold. It takes even more strength not look at those lips, especially when Dean wets them with his tongue.

This is fucking torture.

“So, you got out of work,” Castiel says conversationally, needing something to distract himself from everything else screaming for his attention.

“Barely. Rufus, my boss, was being a hard ass earlier in the week. But Benny’s schedule at the diner changed, so Rufus agreed to let Benny run the place for an hour while I’m gone.”

Castiel frowns. “I hope you won’t get in trouble just so you can be here.”

Dean waves his hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I bought Rufus a bottle of scotch and he was peaches after that. Should’ve done that to begin with, actually.”

“Bribing your boss? Seems a little unethical, don’t you think?” Castiel points out with a raise of his eyebrows.

Dean laughs. “Probably. Rufus is more family than boss anyway. The only reason he got that job is because he’s buddies with a family friend back home in Kansas. Keep it all in the family business, you know?”

Castiel nods. “Ah, so you have one too?” When Dean gives him a strange look, Castiel takes a careful breath before elaborating. “The ‘family business’ I’m supposed to be in is medicine. I was pursuing biomedical engineering before I chose art. My mother’s a neurosurgeon. My sister will be graduating from med school soon and following in her footsteps as a surgeon. Gabriel’s the only one who outright refused to get involved with anything medicine.”

He can feel Dean’s eyes flicking over his face, the unspoken question sitting heavily between them.

“What about your dad?”

Castiel keeps a careful mask in place as he pulls away to grab a new brush to start adding definition to the black.

“Cardiothoracic.”

Dean purses his lips, curiosity rolling off him in waves but thankfully, he doesn’t ask any more questions. The subject of Castiel’s family is never a light one. Gabriel’s the only one he can freely talk about and not have his mood be soured. Even then, sometimes the mere association of Gabriel is enough to remind Castiel of the life he’s desperately trying to put behind him. Castiel’s actually shocked he said anything at all about his family to Dean. This is just like last Sunday. Not that he has many people to tell, but he’d never think to tell someone like Dean – _especially_ Dean - about dropping an honorable career track in favor of one full of unknowns and uncertainties and failures. He’s not sure how to feel about it.

Silence falls between them as Castiel finishes up painting Dean’s face. Strangely enough though, it calms the anxiety that began to bubble in his stomach. He lets himself get lost in transforming Dean’s face with each slow and deliberate stroke, taking way more time than he should. Not that it matters though since four o’clock is drawing near and the crowd has thinned significantly. There’s no one hovering outside his tent, which he’s more than grateful for.

“Alright, I think you’re done.” He swipes his brush one more time to clean up a line before stepping back and giving it one last look over. Satisfied, he grabs the mirror and hands it to Dean. He doesn’t allow himself to watch Dean’s face for a reaction, opting to clean his brushes instead.

“Jesus, Cas,” Dean exclaims, which causes the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards.

“You’re happy with it?” he asks without tearing his gaze away from his brushes.

“Am I hap – yeah, man. It’s awesome! The guys are gonna be so jealous.”

Castiel snorts. “They won’t tease you?”

“Probably. I don’t care though. If they do, I’ll just give ‘em a bunch of shit to do and they can’t do anything about it since I’m the boss today.”

“So we have bribing, and now abuse of power. You’re starting to sound like a bad influence, Dean Winchester,” Castiel points out, peeking at Dean from the corner of his eye. His heart nearly stops at the smirk Dean gives him, eyes glittering with mischief.

“You’re not such an angel yourself, Castiel.”

A blush burns its way over his cheeks, spreading up to his ears and down his neck, and Castiel has to look away. The reaction only evokes a laugh from Dean, the chair squeaking as he gets to his feet.

“I’m gonna find us some refreshments, okay? And don’t worry – I’m not gonna get alcohol.”

The protest dies before it can leave Castiel’s mouth and he’s left watching Dean go. It takes a few minutes and the draining of his water bottle for the heat to leave his skin. When Dean returns, he has two cups of frozen lemonade and hands one off to Castiel. They both sit in the chairs in the back of the tent and chat idly as they nibble on the frozen treat, Castiel making sure to keep an eye out for anyone that passes by.

Dean asks how Castiel’s ink commission went – which almost makes him blush again at the thought of what he painted instead – and in turn, Castiel inquires about Dean’s job as a mechanic. Turns out, Dean has a special interest in restoring classic cars. Castiel may have no idea what half the mechanic jargon means, but it doesn’t stop him from listening to every word. Dean has all the patience in the world as he attempts to explain more clearly, even when Castiel doesn’t ask a question. It must be written all over his face. No one else approaches the tent as they talk. If it weren’t for one of the event coordinators stopping by to enthusiastically thank him for his time and work, Castiel would’ve completely lost track of time.

Dean stands by, waiting for him to pack up his things and after giving his area a once over to make sure he has everything, Castiel announces that he’s ready to go.

“You want to me to get that for you?” Dean asks as they start walking towards Pearl Street to leave the park.

Castiel snickers. “I’m more than capable of pulling my art supplies myself.”

Dean holds his hands up in defense. “Hey, I’m just trying to being nice. You’ve had a long day and all.”

“And so have you, which is apparently not over yet.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m just doing paperwork.”

Castiel glances at him. “I appreciate the offer, but I respectfully decline.”

“If you insist.” They walk in silence for a moment before Dean starts talking again. “I hope Charlie wasn’t too much, by the way.”

That makes Castiel quirk a smile. “Not at all. I enjoyed her company very much. Dorothy’s too.”

Dean’s lips twitch, as if trying to withhold a smile. “I’m glad to hear that. She can be scary when she wants to be, but she’s a sweet girl. She’s kinda like the little sister Sam and I never had.”

After seeing the two of them interact today, Castiel definitely believes it. Despite them not being blood related, Charlie and Dean seemed more like family than him and Hael have ever been.

“Have you known each other long?”

Dean nods. “Oh yeah, since my sophomore year of high school and her freshmen year. We have a lot of history together.”

That captures Castiel’s attention. “Oh, were you two ever…?”

Dean bursts out laughing. “Dude, no way. We were never like that,” he manages to squeeze out between laughing fits.

Castiel bites his lip, a little embarrassed for assuming as much. “My apologies. I imagine the both of you meeting was interesting, nonetheless.”

The laughter dies out of Dean, expression becoming more stone-like. “Not exactly. We didn’t exactly get along…” Dean swallows. “But that’s a story for another time.”

Castiel’s eyebrows knit together. He can’t imagine a time where Dean and Charlie didn’t get along, especially after Dean saying how close Charlie is to him and his brother. Every time Castiel thinks Dean can’t get any more intriguing, he’s proven wrong. How many secrets lie behind that smirk? How much darkness lies within that heart? Castiel’s already seen how he and Dean have more in common than he thought. Perhaps he knows more than he realizes already.

“She liked you, though.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth pulls upwards. “I was hoping to land in her good graces.”

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets. “You don’t have to, but if you wanted to hang out with us sometime, you’re more than welcome. We like going to that diner for dinner, or they’ll come over to my place and I’ll cook. We don’t do the bar scene too much anymore.”

Relief floods through Castiel. “That’s alright, I never saw the appeal of going to bars.”

Dean glances over at him. “So is that a yes?”

The smile Castiel gives him is definitely unauthorized. “I’d love to, Dean.”

Dean returns the smile. “Look at us – on our way to becoming friends. So what do you think, friendship police? Have we surpassed the ‘familiar acquaintances’ level yet?”

Castiel narrows his eyes at him, causing Dean’s smile to widen. He clearly enjoys pushing Castiel’s buttons. “I am not the friendship police. But to answer your question; yes, I believe we have.” He pauses before adding in a softer tone, “I… I consider you a friend, Dean.”

Dean’s amused smile softens. “It’s a two way street, then.”

To keep from blushing, Castiel lets his mouth run. He asks Dean why he chose the Batman mask for his design. Apparently, Dean calls himself Batman when he ‘does something awesome’, which his brother never found amusing. In turn, Dean asks Castiel about the bees on his cheek. There’s really no significance behind them besides that Castiel’s fond of them and their importance to the world. Dean decides they suit him. They talk until they reach the car, where Dean doesn’t take no for an answer when it comes to loading Castiel’s heavy case of art supplies in the backseat of the car.

“I can do it myself, Dean.”

“And risk you scratching up my baby? I don’t think so. Now hand it over.”

There’s clearly no room for discussion when it comes to Dean’s car.

The drive home goes by quicker than Castiel would’ve liked. All the traffic is headed inbound for Saturday night rather than outbound, so the roads are relatively clear. When they come to a stop in front of the apartment complex, Dean takes it upon himself, once again, to unload Castiel’s art supplies.

“Thank you for the ride. I appreciate it,” Castiel tells him as Dean stands by the driver side, leaning his forearms on the hood of the car.

“It’s no problem, Cas. Like I said, work’s on the way.”

He shrugs. “Still, thank you.”

Dean grins. “You’re welcome.”

With a final nod of goodbye, Castiel turns to walk towards the entrance of their building but pauses when Dean calls after him.

“Hey, I don’t know what your dinner plans are, but I’m picking up Chinese on my way home tonight. Want anything?”

Oh, how he wishes he could say yes, but Castiel shakes his head. “I’m planning on having an early dinner since I, um,” he shifts uncomfortably, still not sure if it’s a weird topic between them. “I’m working tonight.”

“Oh,” Dean straightens his posture, eyes darting away from Castiel. “Right, no problem.”

“But,” Castiel says before his brain stop him, “Perhaps we can do breakfast again?”

Dean glances up at him with a tiny smirk. “Breakfast, huh?”

Castiel rolls his eyes, aware of the jab Dean’s trying to make. “Yes or no, Dean.”

A teasing glint reflects in those eyes. “Fine, breakfast it is. Don’t keep me waiting this time, alright?”

“No promises.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a second longer before Dean shakes his head and slides into rumbling car. Castiel forces himself to turn away and walk towards the glass doors of their building. He listens as Dean pulls away, sparing a moment to watch the black car disappear down the road, getting smaller and smaller.

Today, he decides, was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's curious, [this](https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTCg-iQsrzp7BbHi9s2W2b2NmuQraHkO9I7TkPL7UnTpoOxZHeSFg) is what Dorothy's face paint design is :)  
> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you have no idea how excited I am for summer so I can have more time to write. I can't thank those keeping up with the story enough for being so patient with when this is updated, and also to those who leave comments and kudos. You're the best ♥ Anyway, I wanted to give give some quick credit to a couple people:
> 
> 1\. Cas' creations in this chapter are based on some ink drawings done by Alex Konahin (who creates some really beautiful things, let me tell you). I'll include links to the specific works within the text to better visualize them because just don't do them justice :)  
> and  
> 2\. Of course, [Naomi](http://adoringjensen.tumblr.com) for making sense of my frequently jumbled words <3

“Here you go, Dean.”  
  
Dean glances up from his phone, grinning at the beer being set down in front of him. “Thanks, Kev. I trust you didn’t steal any sips.”  
  
Kevin snorts. “With Henriksen sitting over there? I don’t think so. I’d rather not get kicked out of school and thrown in jail.”  
  
Dean chuckles, glancing over at Victor who’s perked up from his cup of coffee at the sound of his name. He narrows his eyes at them while Dean gives an innocent wave.  
  
“Evening, Officer. Don’t worry, I’m just reminding Kevin of the dangers beer has on nineteen year olds.”  
  
Victor shakes his head. “He’s not the one I’m worried about, Winchester.”  
  
Dean scoffs. “Me? Oh come on, I’ve never done anything wrong.”  
  
“You don’t fool me, Dean. I take guys like you in all the time,” Victors says with a smirk, pulling out his wallet to toss a few bills on the table. There’s no real threat behind his words though. It’s what they do.  
  
When Dean first moved to Grand Rapids, there were nights where he couldn’t sleep for the life of him. Too many dark thoughts plaguing his mind. To help clear it, he’d take the Impala out in the middle of the night to find deserted, long stretches of rural highway to race along with all the windows rolled down. Sometimes he’d blast music too. It usually did the trick. That is, until Victor started pulling him over. Dean never went above the acceptable five mile cushion to be considered speeding though, so besides a handful of warnings, he got off free every time.  
  
Victor used to be dead set on trying to find a reason to arrest Dean, but along the way, he backed off. Probably did a search on him and found all sorts of information. Dean’s not one to accept pity, but at least Victor leaves him alone now. Either way, they joke about their little cat and mouse game.  
  
“I bet you just want to see me in handcuffs, you kinky bastard.” Dean probably shouldn’t be so cavalier in speaking to a police officer like that, especially Henrikson. But hey, he likes testing his limits.  
  
Victor grunts, nodding to him and Kevin. “Stay out of trouble, you two.” And with that, he’s out the door and getting into his patrol car.  
  
“So is Cas coming? Benny and I were surprised when neither of you show up for breakfast,” Kevin says, using the rag tucked in his back pocket to wipe down the table next to Dean’s.  
  
Dean takes a sip of his beer. “Uh, yeah. He had an art thing today, so we decided to do dinner instead.”  
  
Kevin’s lips twitch as if trying to withhold a smile but his attention is dragged to the counter when someone walks in and grabs a menu from beside the register. “I’ll be over there. Just call if you need anything.”  
  
Dean nods, hoping he doesn’t look too relieved. “Sure, go ahead.”  
  
He takes another long pull of his beer, mostly so he can have an excuse for why his face is a little more flushed than normal. He’s not surprised Kevin said something about him and Cas missing breakfast this morning. It’s kinda become their thing. Their schedules don’t line up very well, so the best time they’re both guaranteed to hang out are on Sunday mornings. The weekend Cas had his charity event is when this little tradition became just that. When the next Sunday came along, they found themselves back at the diner for a third week in a row. And then there was a fourth. This fifth visit has been the first and only deviance in their routine so far, but instead of waiting until the next week to have breakfast, they decided to meet up after Cas was done doing his thing.  
  
As much as Dean hates to admit it, Sundays are quickly becoming his favorite day. Sure, he sees Cas in the hallway and they’ll spare a few minutes to talk about their day. They’ve even exchanged numbers, so they text back and forth, too. But those little moments are never fulfilling enough. Not like the several hours they spend together on Sundays. One – specifically Charlie – would argue that they’re neighbors for fuck’s sake and they could hang out at each other’s places rather standing in the hallway or texting from opposite sides of their shared wall, but their situation isn’t exactly typical.  
  
Dean’s been doing an okay job at fending off the stomach flutters and the constant need to touch Cas, but he’s not about to test his limits by inviting Cas over. And the one time Dean tried to peek into Cas’ apartment to see some of his work, Cas nearly slammed the door in his face. Of course, he apologized repeatedly and explained that he was embarrassed by the mess, but Dean knows the real reason. Visiting someone’s living space is kinda intimate. Not even in the sexual way. He and Cas may have leveled up as friends faster than he expected to, but hanging out in each other’s apartments? It just seems like another level they may or may not be at. Dean’s not about to ruin the awesome friendship they’ve spent the last several weeks building.  
  
Two quick vibrations on his phone startle Dean out of his thoughts, followed by another two. Scrunching his eyebrows, Dean unlocks it to see who the messages are from. The first is from Cas, saying he’s about ten minutes away. The second’s from Sam.  
  
_Just talked to Charlie. She’s bringing Dorothy to the graduation. So that means you’re going to be a fifth wheel unless you’ve changed your mind._  
  
Dean groans quietly. It’s April now, which means Sam’s graduation is about two months away. Sam decided to go the responsible route and begin planning early for who’s all coming, meaning he’s been pestering Dean about whether he’s bringing a date. But as Dean’s told him about ten times now, he’s not seeing anyone so there’s no one to bring.  
  
He decides texting is moot at this point and calls instead. Sam picks after one ring.  
  
“Does you calling mean you’re bringing someone?” Sam sounds way too excited about this possibility.  
  
“No. I called to tell you, once again, that I’m not bringing anyone.”  
  
Sam gives a resigned sigh. “Fine. No date. What about any of your friends? Like Benny? Come on Dean, there’s enough room for one more since Jo can’t make it.”  
  
“Benny works two jobs. There’s no way he’d be able to get the time off.”  
  
“What about Cas?”  
  
Dean’s heart skips a beat but he’s quick to smother the feeling. “Cas and I have barely known each other a month. Don’t you think it’d be kinda weird bringing him to a family event across the country?”  
  
“Not really. You go to freakin’ breakfast with him every week and from what I hear, you guys get along really well. The guy must be cool if you’re hanging out with him all the time.”  
  
“We’re neighbors, Sam.” Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair.  
  
“Oh come on, you two are more than that, Dean.”  
  
“What are you trying to say?” He realizes too late how defensive he sounds and it only makes the heat in his cheeks creep up to his ears and down his neck.  
  
“That… you guys are friends.” The words come out slowly, Sam clearly confused at the turn of this conversation. If Dean could just get his damn emotions under control, he wouldn’t be sitting here in silence, blushing like a fucking school girl at a nonexistent implication. “Look, I’m sorry if I assumed anything. I just figured –“  
  
“Don’t sweat it. Cas and I – yeah, we’re friends, but… I don’t know, Sammy,” he sighs. This would probably be easier if Dean told Sam the whole story of him and Cas. But that would mean admitting to his brother that he was so lonely, he called a sex hotline – and not as a joke – and ended up… No, he’s got too much pride to tell the pathetic story to his little brother, who’s been worrying about him for a while now. It was bad enough telling Charlie, but at least they’re not related. There’re just some things better left unsaid between siblings.  
  
Dean knew it’d be difficult, let alone sketchy, to keep Cas completely hidden away. He only told Sam about Castiel, the artist who lives next door, and carefully left out the parts about the crush and the phone sex. Charlie was even made sworn not to run her mouth, but apparently she’s been mentioning some things if Sam knows about his new Sunday ritual.  
  
After trailing off, Sam picks up what Dean left unintentionally floating in the air. “Do you like him or something?”  
  
“No. There’s no feelings.” He takes a drag of his beer.  
  
“Okay then, just ask him. Please? I want a head count of everyone who’s coming so I can make arrangements and –“  
  
“Okay, okay, I’ll ask him,” Dean interrupts. He knows Sam’s only being so insistent because he doesn’t want Dean feeling left out around all the couples, even if he doesn’t say it out loud. Dean hates that Sam worries about him like this, but he can’t keep brushing Sam off. He only wants Dean to be happy, after all. “You nag me too much.”  
  
Sam huffs a humorless laugh. “Maybe if you weren’t so stubborn all the time.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes but grins. He can’t wait to see his brother again. It’s been too long since spring break.  
  
“I wanted to talk to you about something else though.” The uneasy tone in Sam’s voice makes the smile fall from his face.  
  
“Not now.” Dean knows exactly where Sam’s about to take this conversation, and there’s no way he’s going there. Not today. Not before he’s about to see Cas.  
  
“We have to talk about it eventually, Dean. We don’t exactly have a lot of time,” Sam reminds him gently, as if talking to an animal easily spooked.  
  
Dean pulls the phone away from his ear, taking a deep breath before bringing it back. “It’s not something you need be worrying about right now, Sam. I said I’d take care of everything, and I am. You just focus on school and graduating.”  
  
“And you’re supposed to shoulder everything yourself?” Sam challenges.  
  
“Yes.” When he hears Sam scoff on the other end, Dean speaks up before he can put his protest into words. “I’m serious, Sam. You’re so close to the finish line. You don’t need this… this responsibility on your shoulders.”  
  
“Yeah, you’ve made sure of that the past fourteen years,” Sam mumbles, sounding like he was eight years old again.  
  
“Well, I’m the big brother and what I say goes,” he says with a smirk, attempting to lighten the mood. It seems to work because Dean can practically hear the eye roll in his tone.  
  
“Whatever you say, Dean.”  
  
Dean transitions the conversation away from the heavy talk. He begrudgingly asks how Amelia’s doing and her plans for graduation. If it were up to him, Amelia wouldn’t be in the picture at all. After a few too many fights over the subject though, he’s trying his best to play nice. Thankfully they don’t stay on the topic of her and Sam’s relationship too long. Dean talks about how everyone’s been doing and what’s going on at the shop. Sam talks about school and his friends and everyone’s plans after graduation.  
  
They’re both in the middle of a bicker session over whether Dean should drive or fly to California for the graduation when Dean spots Cas walking through the doors as Balthazar’s car is pulling out of the parking lot. He automatically looks to their usual spot, the small table nestled near the corner by the window, and that small smile Dean’s come to know as a ‘Cas smile’ lightens up his eyes.  
  
“You could save yourself so much time if you fly, Dean. Just take some drugs and pass out,” Sam argues in his ear.  
  
“You know those don’t work for me, Sam. Anyway, I gotta go. Cas is here. And before you get your undies in a wad, I’ll ask him about coming with, okay?”  
  
Sam huffs a breath. “This discussion isn’t over, just so you know. Have fun with Cas. Tell him I said hi or something.”  
  
“Will do.”  
  
They both hang up, never really being ones to say explicit goodbyes, and he nods to Cas as he sits down while eyeing Dean curiously.  
  
“Hey, Cas.”  
  
“Hello, Dean.”  
  
He gestures to the glass of water in front of Cas, having ordered it about five minutes ago for when he showed up. “Figured you didn’t drink much so I ordered you a water.”  
  
Cas reaches for the glass, immediately sucking down gulps of it and it takes some effort not to stare at the way his throat ripples with each swallow. Jesus fucking Christ, get it together, Winchester.  
  
“You’re right, I didn’t,” Cas says, setting the nearly drained glass down. “Heaven forbid I have to urinate while presenting my work to a client or while being stuck in traffic on the way home. Balthazar purposely hits every bump in the road whenever that happens, even though he denies it.”  
  
Kevin approaches a second later to take their order. When Cas starts to reach for a menu, Dean takes a leap of faith and orders for him. If Benny’s not cooking tonight, that means Elizabeth’s in the kitchen and her grilled ham and cheese sandwiches are some of the best Dean’s ever had. He even orders it for himself since it’s a little chilly outside and it sounds like the perfect comfort food for an evening like this. The only difference he makes to his is adding bacon. Because it’s bacon.  
  
As Kevin’s walking away, Dean looks back to see Cas staring at him with a wrinkled nose.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You ordered bacon on your grilled cheese?”  
  
Dean stares at him for a long moment before leaning towards Castiel, talking in a low voice. “Castiel Novak, I swear if you tell me you don’t like bacon…”  
  
Cas rolls his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just think it sounds distasteful to put on grilled cheese.”  
  
Dean gasps, reeling away from him. “Take that back!”  
  
“I will not,” Cas says defiantly. “That cannot be healthy, Dean.”  
  
Groaning, Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “There’s only room for one person in my life to be a health nut and that’s Sammy.” Dean takes a sip of his beer before trying a different approach. “Come on, you can’t knock it ‘til you try it.”  
  
Kevin arrives to drop off the iced tea Cas ordered before whisking off again. Cas hums thoughtfully as he stirs in a little bit of sugar. Dean just knows he’s making him wait for an answer on purpose. He doesn’t get one until Cas takes a sip of his stupid tea.  
  
“Fine. I’ll try it.”  
  
“Good. You’re gonna like it, I promise.”  
  
Cas quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him but, his eyes are amused nonetheless. “We’ll see.”  
  
While they wait for their food to arrive, Dean demands to know how Castiel’s art thing went. Turns out, it was a client who heard of him through another client he had a few weeks ago - a woman who commissioned Cas to paint flowers in ink. She loved Cas’ work so much she decided to pass along his name to her son, who was doctor opening his own private practice and wanted some art revolving around a medical theme. The event Cas went to today was for the official opening of the new office and the guy wanted to give Castiel recognition for his work.  
  
“So does this mean you get free check-ups?” Dean muses.  
  
Cas snorts. “No. However, they did give me money which pays the bills. I also got some free stickers. So I’m satisfied.”  
  
“Stickers? C’mon, let’s see ‘em.” Dean holds out his hand. Smirking to himself, Castiel reaches into his coat pocket and produces several stickers, depositing them into Dean’s waiting hand. Dean laughs when he looks at them. There’s several pastel colored puppy stickers, a handful of Disney princess ones, and a couple with characters from Marvel. “Damn, you really hit the jackpot,” he whistles, handing them back.  
  
“You can have them if you want.” Cas motions for Dean to take them back.  
  
Dean scoffs, placing them on the table in front of Cas. “No way, man. You earned these.” After Cas gives him a look and begins gathering them up again, Dean decides it’s a good time to weasel a question in that he can already guess the answer to. “So, did you take pictures of what you made?”  
  
“Is that your not-so-subtle way of asking if you can see it?” Castiel asks.  
  
“Maybe.” Dean gives him a charming smile.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Dean tries not to grin too wide when Castiel pulls up the pictures and hands the phone over. He’s not sure why Cas is so shy to share his work with him. He can’t honestly believe Dean would dry heave at the sight of them, does he? But Dean’s more than grateful that Cas is finally showing him _something_. The moment Dean sees the whole collection, his mouth drops open. “Holy shit, Cas. These look friggin’ awesome!”  
  
“If you swipe to the left, there are close ups of the individual panels.” Dean glances up briefly to see a bright pink shade coloring Cas’ cheeks. He directs his attention back to the phone, swiping through the pictures. Seeing them in closer detail, it’s nothing like Dean’s ever seen.  
  
There are five different works all together, each of a different organ. There’s a [brain](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m81j0qZzjP1rb4v7co1_1280.jpg), a [heart](http://www.inspirefirst.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/09/db6db557e445a73fe8d76b7c51f6bca8.jpg), a pair of [lungs](https://i1.wp.com/tutons.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Incredibly-Detailed-Ink-Drawings-by-Alex-Konahin-2.jpg), the [digestive system](https://www.juxtapoz.com/images_old/stories/HannahS/November/e721d0fdedb4c3e6513c9310c9d02b44.jpeg) and – Dean can’t help but giggle like he’s back in fifth grade – the [female reproductive system](http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YrppamB2tR8/VUvTMIw1tXI/AAAAAAABK2o/TZaBxJ1hcME/s1600/Alex-Konahin-02.jpg). Not that Dean’s some doctor or anything, but each drawing looks pretty damn realistic despite the whimsical theme with which they’re drawn in. The sheer detail of the geometric patterns, Dean finds it impossible to believe Cas did all that with his hand. A million miniscule circles in the background of one of the lungs, the intricate tangling of the scrolls that makes up the brain, the near microscopic patterns of the digestive system that Dean swears he could feel each line and ridge if he reached out and touched it.  
  
“Damn,” Dean breathes, constantly zooming in and out of each picture to marvel at the detail. “Why didn’t you tell me before how talented you were, huh?”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dean. All it takes is time and patience.”  
  
Dean glares at him. “Don’t sell yourself short, man. This,” he flips around the phone to show Cas the panel of the heart, “is talent. Or do I need to dig out Sammy’s old drawings to convince you?”  
  
Cas takes his phone back, smiling. “I would be interested to see those, if he allows.”  
  
Just then, their food is being set down in front of them. Kevin moves on to check on another table when neither Dean nor Cas have any other requests. Dean watches anxiously while Cas takes his first bite of the sandwich, smiling when it gets a nod of approval. Dean’s about to take his first bite before he remembers he wanted Cas to try it with the bacon too.  
  
“Now this,” Dean says, holding out one of the halves of his sandwich to Cas, which earns him an incredulous stare.  
  
“You were being serious?”  
  
Dean waves the sandwich around to enunciate his point and Castiel begrudgingly takes it.  
  
“Are you sure you want me to bite into it?” He gives Dean an uncertain look.  
  
“What? Do you have cooties or something?”  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes and takes a bite. It’s as if he chews extra slow just to torture Dean.  
  
“It’s good, but I prefer it without the bacon,” Cas says, handing the sandwich back to Dean.  
  
“You hurt me, Castiel.” Dean shakes his head and takes a big bite just to compensate for Cas’ lack of appreciation.  
  
They talk about the rest of their day, though his conversation with Sam earlier is buzzing around in Dean’s mind. He’d love to bring Cas along to meet Sam, but is it too soon? They’ve only started talking over a month ago. Is that grounds enough to invite a friend across the country to a family event? Sure, nearly everyone going isn’t related by blood. In fact, Dean’s the only blood relative Sam will have there but…  
  
“Dean?”  
  
Dean’s eyes focus back in on Cas, who’s staring at him with a look of concern. He must’ve spaced out staring at Cas’ face. Awesome.  
  
“Sorry. I was, um – what were you saying?”  
  
Castiel studies him for a moment before answering. “I was asking if you have any car recommendations. Um, for me.”  
  
Dean scrunches his eyebrows together. “Why? You looking for a new car or something?”  
  
Castiel drops his eyes to his plate, which only has a few sweet potato chips left on it that he pushes around. “Actually, my first.”  
  
“You’ve never had a car before?” Dean asks, confused. How does Cas get around now? He’s not around most of the day to see how often Cas goes out, but he’s sure Cas had his own car. Then again, Balthazar does drive him around a lot…  
  
Oh.  
  
Dean looks up to quickly apologize, feeling awful when he sees the embarrassed flush of Cas’ face.  
  
“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –“  
  
“It’s okay, Dean. I used to have one, but when I moved away from home, the car was technically not mine to keep. I feel I finally have the means to afford one, so I would like to change that now.”  
  
Dean nods, still feeling like a dick. Even though he swears Cas has all the talent in the fucking world, Dean has to remind himself that Cas is still a struggling artist who apparently has no support of this absent family Dean rarely hears about. The Impala was passed down, so Dean didn’t have to go through the process of looking for an affordable car and making payments on it. He just has to deal with gas and whatever tune-ups he gives her. Even then, he doesn’t pay much since he does the work himself any materials he uses are fairly cheap. He’s determined to help Cas, though.  
  
Downing the last of his beer, he motions to Cas’ plate. “You done?”  
  
“Oh, um, yes.”  
  
Slapping a few bills on the table next to the bill Kevin dropped off about ten minutes ago, Dean stands and motions for Cas to follow.  
  
“Dean?”  
  
“C’mon. We’re going to find you a car.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that. Besides, it’s Sunday. All the dealerships are closed.”  
  
Dean grins. “Don’t worry. I know a place you’ll find something.”  
  
Castiel looks doubtful, but lays down his half of the bill before getting to his feet. They both say their goodbyes to Kevin before heading out to the Impala. When they’re on the road, Cas tries to pry out of Dean where exactly they’re going, but Dean just responds with, “You’ll see.”  
  
When they pull into drive for Singer’s Auto Service, Dean parks in his usual spot and glances over to see Cas squinting at him in confusion. It never fails to amuse Dean.  
  
“This is where I work, Cas.”  
  
Castiel’s eyes widen. “Really?” He looks out the window, as if looking at the place for the first time.  
  
“C’mon, I’ll show you around.”  
  
Technically, the shop’s closed so Dean opts to take them around the back so he doesn’t have to unlock the front. As usual, the garage door is open with the radio blasting classic rock, and it looks like it’s only Benny and Rufus in tonight. Benny’s under a car, legs sticking out and all, and Dean grins.  
  
When he walks over, he nudges at Benny’s foot with his own, which startles Benny, if the way his legs jump is any indication.  
  
“Rufus, I said to let me work in peace,” he huffs from under the car before sliding out, the surprise evident on his face when he finds Dean and Cas standing there instead. “Dean? What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
“Don’t act like you’re not happy to see me,” Dean smirks.  
  
Benny gets to his feet to give him a welcoming clap on the back. “Seems like it’s the other way around, dontcha think?” he grins before looking at Cas. “Nice to see you too, Cas. What brings you both here tonight?”  
  
“Good evening, Benny.” Cas nods stiffly and Dean nearly rolls his eyes. These two exhaust him. One of these days, Dean’s gonna ask them what their deal is with each other. He pipes up before the two of them can really get into their alpha stare down.  
  
“Gonna help Cas here find a car. Rufus didn’t sell those ones we fixed up for Motor Mall yet, right?”  
  
Benny shakes his head. “A guy’s supposed to be comin’ tomorrow to look at ‘em.”  
  
“Awesome. We’ll just be out back then.” Dean looks over his shoulder, grateful Rufus is sitting with his feet up on the desk, back turned while he talks on the phone and ultimately, not catching sight of Dean. No doubt he’d try to put him to work if he saw him hanging around.  
  
He leads Cas through the maze of old, mostly dead cars to the back lot where they keep the working ones that are ready to be sold off to a second hand dealership.  
  
“I didn’t realize how expansive this place was,” Cas murmurs, eyes scoping out the seemingly never-ending sea of cars.  
  
“Bobby’s got a good chunk of land. Couple acres, at least. Didn’t take very long to fill ‘em either,” Dean explains, amused at Cas’ gaze of wonder looking everything over. When they make it to the back lot, Dean gestures to the five cars sitting in the front right corner. “Those are the ones we fixed up to sell. They’re in pretty good shape for being early 2000s.”  
  
Castiel walks around each of the cars, that little V forming between his eyebrows that Dean’s come to recognize when Cas is scrutinizing something. Dean keeps the silence while Cas takes his time looking each one over. It’s driving him crazy, though. Cas doesn’t look thrilled for any of them. Not everyone’s enthusiastic about cars, but _some_ form of excitement would be nice. Dean really wants Cas to like whatever he picks.  
  
“Well?” Dean prompts after what seems like hours of Cas circling the same five cars.  
  
Cas looks to him. “I…” he eyes flicker over his shoulder, a spark of interest appearing in them. _Finally_. “What’s this one?” he asks, walking past Dean to the other side of the lot.  
  
Dean turns around to look at whichever car’s captured Cas’ attention, snorting a laugh when he sees which one it is. “You mean the pimpmobile we’re gutting for parts?”  
  
Castiel looks sharply at him. “What? Why?”  
  
Dean joins him by the side of car, almost wondering if Cas is messing with him right now. “Because no one’s going to buy this thing.”  
  
Castiel frowns, looking back to the car. “What model car is it?”  
  
Dean stares at him incredulously but answers anyway. “It’s a ’78 Lincoln Continental Mark V. Seriously Cas, if you want a classic, we have much nicer ones I could fix up for you.” He thinks about that ‘61 Olds Starfire that he usually finds himself sitting on when he eats lunch.  
  
“Oh.” The disappointment is thick in Cas’ voice and the way his eyes are lingering over the car makes something wrench in Dean’s stomach. What the hell is wrong with him? If Cas wants the pimpmobile, Dean would be an asshole not to make it happen for him, even if he thinks it’s a total piece of crap that shouldn’t be driven in public. Ever.  
  
“Look, if you really want it, it’s yours.”  
  
Castiel’s eyes dart up at him, wide and hopeful. “Really? Are you sure?”  
  
Dean chuckles. “Sure, Cas. It’s actually in pretty good shape, but I’ll look it over tomorrow and let you know what needs to be done to make it good as new.”  
  
The smile that lights up Castiel’s face makes Dean’s insides go all fuzzy and soft. He can’t help but smile too as he hooks an arm around Cas’ shoulders.  
  
“What d’ya say we go make it official, hm?”  
  
When Cas nods enthusiastically, Dean lets his arm slide from around Cas’ shoulders and they walk back to the garage, the shadows growing longer around them as the sun begins its descent into the ground. Dean speaks with Rufus first to explain the situation since they’d had different plans for the Lincoln. He’s nervous Rufus might say no to selling Cas the car, but he gives in.  
  
“Don’t know why anyone would want that piece of junk, but fine. Send him in to sign the paperwork,” Rufus grunts.  
  
Dean motions the okay for Cas to come in before leaving to let them talk business. Dean has no doubt Rufus will offer a good price for the car, considering they was just going to strip the thing anyway. People like Bobby and Rufus aren’t entirely profit driven the way they’ve been told they should be when running a business. They make enough to keep themselves happy, but they really just like the work.  
  
“So what’d he pick?” Benny asks as Dean walks over to lean against the car he’s working on.  
  
“The ’78 Lincoln.”  
  
Benny rolls out from under the car to give him an incredulous look. “You mean the eye sore?”  
  
Dean snorts. “Yeah. Guess Cas sees something we don’t.”  
  
Benny gets to his feet, grabbing a rag off the hood to wipe off his grime-covered hands. “He’s an interesting one.”  
  
“That he is,” Dean agrees with a small smile. Castiel is unlike anyone Dean’s met before, let alone someone who Dean thought he would consider himself friends with.  
  
“What’s the deal with you two anyway?”  
  
Dean furrows his brows together. “Deal?”  
  
Benny rolls his eyes as he begins to gather his scattered tools. “Don’t play cute. You two dating or somethin’?” Dean’s stunned by the question being asked so bluntly. Benny must take his lack of response for something else because then he adds, “Or is it a mutual benefit thing? I know it’s none of my business, but I won’t judge y -”  
  
“Whoa, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Dean interrupts with an uneasy laugh. “Cas and I are just friends, I promise. No dating, no benefits or… whatever.”  
  
“You sure?” Benny glances at him.  
  
Dean sighs in exasperation. “Yes, I’m sure. What’s it matter anyway?”  
  
“You don’t really want me to answer that.”  
  
“Well, now I do. Spit it out.”  
  
“Fine, but don’t get all offended.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Benny hesitates. “No one of us wants you to get hurt, Dean.”  
  
Dean scoffs, wanting to walk away from the conversation he’s been carefully avoiding but knew would happen eventually. Ever since he brought Cas to the diner that morning, he knew Benny was going to ask about the sudden appearance of Cas in Dean’s life, but he started to think maybe Benny was going to accept their friendship was just that, friendship.  
  
“Don’t get all huffy with me. You asked.”  
  
“I’m a big boy, Benny. I don’t need you or Charlie or Sam acting like I’m some tragic young adult novel.”  
  
“You’re right, but that doesn’t make us any less concerned. We all remember how much Cassie meant to you and we don’t wanna see you hurtin’ like that again.”  
  
Dean stiffens. “What the hell does she have to do with anything? We broke up over three years ago. I’m over it. Been over it.”  
  
It’s the truth, too. Cassie was Dean’s one and only long term relationship and he took their break up hard, but that was years ago. She was a part of his life and she’ll always have a part of Dean that no one else has, but that’s over now. The time they dated isn’t exactly a part of his life Dean likes to remember either, not that it’s Cassie’s fault. It’s the other events that indirectly soured relationship, so he can’t help but draw an association between her and that shit storm that was everything else going on. Like everything else that happened, he put her out of his mind, preferring to pretend it never happened than face the pain that came with remembering. So much so that Dean didn’t even make the connection of when Cas mentioned having a nickname as ‘Cassie’. It’s kinda freaky, actually. But why is Benny bringing her up now?  
  
“Doesn’t matter. You can pretend it never happened, but it did.”  
  
“Are you saying Cas is gonna hurt me? Dude,” Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “You’ve got it all wrong. I swear, Cas and I are just friends. As platonic as they come.”  
  
Benny looks skeptical as he puts away the tool boxes and washes his hands in the utility sink. “I’m just sayin’, on the off chance you start to feel for the guy, be careful, alright?”  
  
“You wanna be a little less vague about what I’m supposed to be careful about?”  
  
Benny dries his hands on a clean rag as he turns to look at Dean. “I obviously don’t know him as well as you do, but I know when someone’s playin’ their cards close to their chest. Has Cas told you anything about his past?”  
  
Dean frowns. Neither of them talk about their pasts other than brief mentions they graze over in conversation. But that doesn’t mean anything. So what if Cas is a little more cautious? It’s not like Dean’s some open book detailing his past either. He hates how Benny’s words sit with him though. He hates the truth that they hold. As much as Dean wants to lie and smother the feelings, he does like Cas, and Cas made it clear he’s not interested in any sort of relationship outside of being friends. Dean’s even convinced himself that Cas got over his maybe-crush on Dean weeks ago. And okay, maybe Dean hates Benny a little bit for being right. It _is_ one-sided, but Dean can handle himself. He’s going to end up like one of Shakespeare’s tragedies.  
  
Before Dean can come up with some bullshit excuse to defend Cas, the man in question walks out of Rufus’ office with some papers in hand.  
  
“So, you all good?” Dean asks him.  
  
“It’s official,” Cas says, waving the papers with a proud smile. Something flutters in Dean’s stomach at the sight.  
  
He shoves down the feeling and claps his hands together once. “Awesome! You ready to head home then?”  
  
Castiel nods before looking to Benny, smile getting a tad more serious. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening, Benny.”  
  
Benny smirks. “You too, Cas.”  
  
With that, Castiel walks towards the open garage door but Dean hesitates to follow, unsure how to leave things with Benny. It seems he doesn’t have to make the decision because Benny holds out a hand and Dean accepts it gratefully as they pull each other into a brief, one armed hug. When Benny pulls back, he’s looking at Dean expectantly.  
  
“We good, brother?”  
  
The corner of Dean’s mouth twitches upwards. “’Course, Benny.”  
  
He follows after Cas and heads around front, getting into the Impala and driving back to the apartment complex. They drive in comfortable silence, Cas straining his eyes through the fading light to reread over his paperwork from Rufus while a Guns N’ Roses cassette serves as background noise. Dean barely notices the lack of conversation because his mind is bogged down with all sorts of thoughts.  
  
Dean was never really mad at Benny. Benny’s the first friend he made when he moved to Michigan and he’s just as much family to Dean as Sam or Charlie or Bobby, so he can’t exactly be angry with him for caring about his well-being. Besides, Benny’s always had a good eye when it comes to evaluating a person’s character. He’s the guy in a group that tends to be quieter because he’s observing everyone else and how they interact. Probably why the bastard gives Dean a run for his money in Poker. Which is also probably why Dean’s stomach feels uneasy about their conversation.  
  
It’s conflicting because on one hand, Charlie adores Cas. Has since they first met at the charity event, and even before when she suspected Dean had a crush on the guy. The thing about Charlie, though, is that she’s an optimist. Dean’s grateful because he could use all the optimism and sunshine he can in his life, but sometimes he’s hesitant to trust her judgment. Charlie believes in true love and happy endings, which is amazing considering what’s happened already in her young life that should make her believe otherwise.  
  
Benny, however, looks at situations more realistically. He’s traveled around a lot in his life and encountered a fair amount of people, so he’s pretty good at reading them. It’s why Dean doesn’t like the way Cas and Benny instantly butted heads the moment they laid eyes on each other. Dean can’t understand it, but it bothers him that Benny doesn’t trust Cas completely, if at all.  
  
Dean vaguely recognizes that he’s pulling into the garage of their complex, having gone on autopilot – which is all sorts of dangerous, he knows – and he realizes neither of them talked the entire ride back. When Dean glances over at Cas, he’s still staring down at those papers with a gaze that tells Dean he’s not actually reading them. What Dean would give to know what exactly is going through that mind.  
  
He parks the Impala, the lack of her purring engine seeming to draw Castiel out of whatever thoughts were clouding his head. Neither of them makes a move to open the door, which is kinda strange, but Dean’s not ready to say goodbye yet. He’s had a good evening with Cas. He doesn’t want to spend the rest of it separated by a wall.  
  
“Hey, you up for some dessert?”  
  
Castiel glances over at him, cocking his head to the side. “What did you have in mind?”  
  
“Not sure. We can find out though.”  
  
Castiel’s eyes sparkle with a smile. “Dessert sounds good.”  
  
With their agreement, they exit the Impala and make their way to the elevator to ride it to the fifth floor. They pause outside Dean’s door while he unlocks it, and a small thrill goes down his back that Cas is gonna be in his apartment for the second time. He shouldn’t be allowing himself to have Cas in his apartment, but considering he’s managed to show absolutely no restraint around Cas today, why not?  
  
Good behavior wouldn’t be good without the bad, right?  
  
Once they step inside, Dean heads straight for the kitchen and pulls open the fridge. He picked up a pie the other day that he’d love to finish off, but there’s only one slice left in the container.  
  
“Damn,” he mutters, regretfully putting it back.  
  
“No luck with dessert?” Castiel asks somewhere behind Dean, sounding like he’s meandering around the apartment.  
  
“Not yet.” Dean closes the fridge in favor of trying the freezer next.  
  
There.  
  
Dean grins wide, pulling out the colorful cardboard box and glancing over his shoulder at Cas, who’s in the living room looking at the small collection of framed pictures Dean has hung on the wall. “You like popsicles?”  
  
Castiel glances over with scrunched eyebrows. “I’ve never had one before.”  
  
Dean gapes at him, unable to believe what he’s hearing. “Excuse me, what?”  
  
Castiel shrugs as he walks over. “My parents didn’t keep many sweets around the house, let alone something as artificial as a popsicle. Whenever Gabriel snuck them in the house, he hogged them for himself. To be honest, I was too paranoid of being caught to try one anyway.”  
  
Shaking his head, Dean pulls out two popsicles and tosses the box back in the freezer. He starts to make his way over to the couch to sit, but pauses. There’s somewhere he’s been wanting to take Cas but never got the chance to without it seeming weird and random. What better time than now?  
  
“So because I’ve never had a popsicle, you’re leaving?” Cas asks as Dean walks towards the front door.  
  
Dean chuckles. “I know a better place we can eat these.”  
  
Castiel raises his eyebrows but follows without further questioning. Dean leads him down the hall to a solid door that looks like it’d just lead to a closet or some sort of maintenance room. Dean finds the simple, silver key on his key ring and opens the usually locked door, the hinges groaning loudly as they reveal a stairwell.  
  
“Dean, what are you doing? I’m certain we are not allowed to go in there.”  
  
Dean steps into the small space. “I got a key, don’t I?” Castiel looks doubtful so Dean gives him a reassuring smile. “C’mon. You’ll like it.”  
  
Cas squints at Dean but gives in, following him into the stairwell with the heavy metal door closing behind them. There’s another solid door at the top of the stairs to match the one at the bottom, and it only takes the same key to unlock it before Dean pushes it open and light washes into the dim stairwell.  
  
Stepping into the fresh air, Dean glances over his shoulder to see Cas frozen in place with wide eyes.  
  
“Welcome to the roof,” he announces, holding out his arms like he owns the place. Castiel steps outside, hair getting ruffled by the light breeze. His eyes flicker everywhere before settling on Dean again.  
  
“How do you have access to the roof?”  
  
“You’ll be amazed what a charming smile can get you.”  
  
Castiel snorts at that, shaking his head and looking around at the area around them. “Only you.”  
  
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dean looks around with Cas.  
  
The light of the evening was descending into shadows when they were leaving the shop. By now, the skies are mostly dark and stars are beginning to peek from behind gray clouds that have pinks and deep purples mixed with shades of indigo reflecting on them from the setting sun. It was tolerable during the day, but now it’s pretty damn cold with the retreating sun. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to eat something frozen out here.  
  
Still, can’t beat the view.  
  
“Oh, wow,” Castiel breathes beside him, the both of them having made their way to the side to look over the surrounding storefronts and neighborhoods. Dean follows his gaze to the city in the distance, the buildings starting to come to life as timed lights gradually flick on. They’re far enough outside the city that they can see the whole skyline, but close enough that the lights aren’t just tiny specks on the horizon.  
  
Dean hands Cas one of the white wrapped popsicles. “Nice, huh?”  
  
Cas accepts the offering, a smile spreading across his face as he stares at the city. “Very. I’d love to paint this. Ink, mostly, but maybe some watercolor too.”  
  
“You should,” Dean says, tearing open the wrapper and stuffing it in his pocket. He tries to squint through the dusky light to see what flavor he got, but there’s one sure way to find out. He goes for it, shoving the tip of the popsicle in his mouth and lapping up at juice that melts against the warmth of his tongue. He hums in satisfaction when he identifies the flavor.  
  
Cherry.  
  
He glances over to see Cas watching him. Dean pulls his popsicle out of his mouth, using it to motion towards Cas’ unopened one. “Come on, let’s see which flavor you got. Mine’s cherry.”  
  
Castiel turns his attention towards his own popsicle. Instead of shoving the wrapper in his pocket though, Cas neatly wraps it around the stick before licking at the tip apprehensively. And no, Dean’s _definitely_ not going to let his mind go there.  
  
“Grape,” Castiel tells him after the first lick. Dean laughs, already imaging what Cas is gonna look like when he’s done.  
  
“Dude, your mouth’s gonna be so purple.”  
  
“That can’t be normal,” Castiel murmurs before sticking more of the popsicle in his mouth.  
  
Dean mimics him, pulling off with an obnoxious slurp. “It’s artificial goodness, Cas. Just accept it.”  
  
Cas is more graceful when he pulls the popsicle out of his mouth. “You’re right. I can see why Gabriel insisted on sneaking these into the house.”  
  
They fall into silence as the lean their forearms on the chest high perimeter wall that goes around the roof, only the sounds of the occasional slurp and smacking of lips along with the light traffic below them filling the quiet.  
  
“Thank you, Dean.”  
  
Dean glances over at him. “For?”  
  
“Well, everything. But I appreciate you helping me out with my car situation,” Castiel pauses, as if debating whether to say something or not. “You have no idea how much getting that car means to me. It finally feels like I’m… earning something on my own.”  
  
“It’s no problem, Cas. I’m glad I could help.”  
  
Cas has his attention focused on the popsicle, though he seems to be getting lost in some sort of thought. It’s the same distracted look he had earlier when he was spacing out at the paperwork. A pit of worry forms in Dean’s stomach. Something’s off. Benny’s words immediately play through Dean’s head.  
  
_I know when someone’s playing their cards close to their chest._  
  
Maybe it’s time to take a small leap.  
  
“Everything okay?”  
  
Castiel’s eyes flicker to him briefly before looking out towards the twinkling city. “I received a postcard from Gabriel today.”  
  
Dean furrows his eyebrows. “That’s good, right?”  
  
“Yes. I haven’t heard from him in months and his phone’s been off. It’s just…” Castiel shakes his head. “I worry about him. Here I am, getting a car I can actually call my own, and half the time, I have no idea where Gabriel is or if he’s alright. I wanted him to live here with me, given we both have been cut off from our parent’s financial support, but he wanted to travel and see the world. Meanwhile, there are periods where I have no idea how to contact him besides wait for a damn postcard to know he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to hear from him, but I’m upset with him at the same time.”  
  
Dean frowns. “That’s understandable. I couldn’t imagine if I didn’t know where Sam was or how to contact him.” Castiel bites off a chunk of his popsicle and doesn’t say anything more, but Dean wants to help ease his frustrations. “So where’d he send the postcard from?”  
  
“Hollywood, believe it or not. I guess it’s a good sign that he’s in the same place from the last time I talked to him.”  
  
“Really?” Dean purses his lips. “There are worse places he could be.”  
  
Cas laughs softly. “True. I just wish he was closer so I could visit him since I doubt he’ll be able to afford any means to come here.”  
  
Dean freezes mid-lick.  
  
Hollywood is in California. California is where Sam is. Sam’s graduation is in California. This is it. This could be how Dean asks Cas to come with him. Fuck, he’s starting to shake. With nerves or excitement, he’s not sure. Maybe both.  
  
“You know, I’m headed out that way in June for Sam’s graduation. We could travel together or something.” It takes quite an effort to keep his voice nonchalant, like he hasn’t been mulling over how to bring up the topic for the last few hours.  
  
“Really?” Cas glances over at him, the surprise evident on his face.  
  
Dean shrugs. “Sure. I mean, I know Hollywood and Stanford are at opposite ends of the state, but we can work something out.” He takes another bite of his popsicle and tries not to cringe at how it freezes his teeth. It makes Cas chuckle as he laps up a stray drop dripping down the side of his popsicle. Dean has to look away before he can have the image of Cas dragging his tongue along the length of _anything_ seared into his brain.  
  
“I’d have to see if I can afford travel and if Balthazar has any events planned for me, but that would be wonderful, Dean.” Cas gives a bright smile that just about lights up the night around them.  
  
Dean smiles back. “Awesome.”  
  
They stand there, leaning against the cold concrete of the perimeter wall while they watch the last sliver of sunset melt into blackness, the city lights prominent against the backdrop of night as they finish their popsicles.  
  
Yeah, Dean’s definitely going to bed with a smile tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already outlined the next (kinda) chapter and I'm pretty excited to dive into writing it. It's gonna be a fun one ;)  
> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, my finger slipped..

There are many things Dean likes but prefers to keep to himself. Guilty pleasures, as they’re often referred to. Chick flicks. Wearing silk panties. Sam’s frilly, cucumber water. Watching _Dr. Sexy MD_ …  
  
_The Bachelor_.  
  
Okay, well this season, it’s _The Bachelor_ ette, but the concept is still the same. Admittedly, he always hated the show because who the hell finds love like that? There’s no way half the show isn’t scripted. But one day, there was nothing else on TV and Dean felt like he could use a laugh, so he decided to watch as a sort of joke. What he didn’t anticipate was actually finding some weird interest in it. It’s such a ridiculous show filled with some real bat shit crazy people, but maybe that’s the appeal. Somehow, through the copious amounts of tears and petty fights, Dean finds himself secretly rooting for his favorite and rolling his eyes whenever the problematic one gets yet another rose, causing the same pointless drama to ensue week after week. There’s much more thought-inducing content for him to consume, but hey, no one can help what becomes their guilty pleasure. He’s been watching for a couple seasons now, and so far he’s managed to keep his small indulgence to himself.  
  
Dean settles deep into the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table with his popcorn and beer at the ready. Apparently the drink of choice to watch the show is wine, but Dean’s not about to make the full transition into Wine Mom on Monday nights.  
  
The recap from last week is still playing when the door to Cas’ apartment slams shut. Furrowing his eyebrows, Dean glances at his phone to check for any new messages that could indicate something was wrong. Nada.  
  
Cas has been up on the roof for the past couple of hours because a storm was on the horizon this afternoon and the guy was freaking out over the chance to paint it in ink. In fact, Cas has been up to the roof several times since Dean’s made him a spare key after their popsicle endeavor last week. As long as Dean’s had the key and been up there, he’s never encountered any trouble for it. What if someone said something to Cas?  
  
Dean decides to text to make sure nothing bad happened. That’s the friend thing to do, after all.  
  
_Everything okay?_  
  
It’s a couple anxious minutes before Cas’ reply.  
  
_Fine. Just frustrated and soaking wet._  
  
Dean glances out the window to see the dark clouds that were looming in the distance have quickly moved in and now buckets of rain are pouring down. It was light out not even ten minutes ago. Dean grimaces at the thought just as Cas sends another message before he can type out a response.  
  
_Who knew clouds were so uncooperative? For fluffy blobs in the sky, you’d think they’d be simple enough to paint. How wrong I was. And now it doesn’t matter because anything remotely okay I painted has been washed away by the rain._  
  
And then another text quickly following that one.  
  
_Sorry, I don’t mean to vent._  
  
Dean can’t help but smile at his phone.  
  
_Yikes. You wanna come over? Might help you forget about the stupid fluffy blobs_  
  
_Really?_  
  
_Sure. I got popcorn and beer too_  
  
Dean’s stomach churns as he watches his phone for Cas’ response. Ever since Dean invited him into the apartment to look for dessert, that trepidation of crossing the threshold – both physically and metaphorically - has been somewhat eased. Dean still hasn’t been in Cas’ apartment, but Cas came over briefly on Friday to watch a movie with him and Charlie and Dorothy. It was a nice evening, and even nicer to have Cas in his apartment longer than a few minutes.  
  
_I’ll be right over._  
  
Dean sighs in relief and gets up to grab another beer from the fridge. Not even a minute later, there’s a knock on his door. Dean has to stifle his laughter at how soaked Cas’ hair still is when he opens the door to let him in.  
  
“You look a little waterlogged.” Dean hands him the beer, which Castiel gratefully accepts, though not without a dry look.  
  
“I’d prefer not to talk about it.”  
  
Chuckling under his breath, Dean walks back to the living room and snatches the bottle opener from the table and tosses it to Cas. His eyes catch on the television before he freezes.  
  
Shit.  
  
He’d been so distracted about Cas coming over, he forgot to turn the channel and now right there on the screen, is a group of guys on some cheesy date trying to woo Rachel, the season’s bachelorette.  
  
“What are you watching?” Cas asks as he takes a seat on the other end of the couch, lifting the bottle to his lips to take a sip.  
  
Dean awkwardly sits down at his end, face flushing hot.  
  
“Oh, um, I was just channel surfing. Didn’t even realize this is what I stopped on before I got up.”  
  
“ _The Bachelorette_ , right?”  
  
“Uh,” Dean timidly grabs the remote to press the info button, displaying the name in a meager attempt at ignorance. “Yeah, looks like.”  
  
“Do you enjoy watching this show?”  
  
The question makes Dean scoff as he quickly flips through the guide to find something else. “What about me even suggest I’d be into trash TV like that?”  
  
“It’s not a characteristic. It’s just that you have it recording,” Cas tells him, confused.  
  
Fuck.  
  
Dean’s mind races with any sort of excuse. He could blame it on Charlie? Or Sam? It’s not like Cas knows what kind of TV they watch. But somehow, he feels like that could eventually bite him in the ass if Cas were to ever bring it up in front of them. Then his guilty pleasure would really be out in the open and no doubt there’d be relentless teasing from, well, _everyone_. It’s bad enough he gets teased for _Dr. Sexy MD_.  
  
“Not everyone can live on caviar, Cas,” he ends up mumbling. A peek towards the other end of the couch reveals the corner of Cas’ mouth turned upwards, but thankfully, there’s no traces of mockery in the discrete smile.  
  
“Let’s watch it, then.”  
  
Dean blinks a couple times. “O-okay.” He exits from the guide and settles back into the couch. For Cas’ sake of understanding, he rewinds the last ten or so minutes back to the beginning. As the recap is playing again, Dean keeps sliding a look to Cas to read his face, but he’s already completely engrossed in the show. Exhaling a silent breath, Dean just nudges the popcorn bowl more towards the center of the couch and returns his attention back to the screen.  
  
As the episode plays out, Dean shares his opinions of the guys – which ones he thinks would complement Rachel the best, which ones are total scumbags looking for their five minutes of fame, and then the ones he strongly suspects to be hired actors for just how _weird_ they are. Whenever Dean looks at Cas to catch a reaction, he has to stifle a laugh at the squinty way Cas watches the TV and the quiet, off comments he makes here and there. Everything is actually going pretty well. They’re eating popcorn, drinking beer, and laughing at some of the complete fuckery that the show is. This is good. Dean feels good.  
  
And then Cas’ phone goes off.  
  
“Shit,” Cas breathes, staring down with wide eyes at his phone.  
  
Dean sits up more, worry already pulling at his insides. “Something wrong?”  
  
The look on Cas’ face is one almost comically similar to that of a deer trapped in a pair of headlights. “Um, n-no. It’s just – fuck. I completely forgot I extended my calling hours.”  
  
“Your… oh.” Dean’s mouth is suddenly very dry.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Dean. Let me just call Anna and let her know when I’ll be available to begin working. She can re-route my calls to someone else.”  
  
“No – no, it’s fine, Cas. Don’t miss a call on my account.” Dean would feel horrible if Cas let calls go just so he could finish watching this show together. Ever since their evening on the roof, Cas hasn’t given Dean any sort of update on the Gabriel situation. If Cas and Gabriel talked, Dean has no idea; but he has noticed Cas taking more calls than usual. Probably putting in more hours to save up some extra cash for the trip on the off chance he’s tagging along.  
  
“Okay. Um, I’m not sure how long it will be. You can finish watching it without me if you’d like.” Cas gets to his feet, a small frown perched on his lips.  
  
“You don’t have to go.” The words spill out quickly and Dean could just kick himself in the ass for it. Oh god, what did he just say?  
  
Cas scrunches his eyebrows at him. “You don’t… You’re okay if I stay?”  
  
Dean shrugs. “We still got the rose ceremony to see. It’s not right for you to watch nearly an hour of this and not even see who gets sent home, right?”  
  
Castiel still doesn’t look convinced though. “You do realize what kind of call you’d be witnessing me take, right?”  
  
That makes Dean snort. “Yeah, Cas. I hear them through the wall.” A bright blush spreads over Castiel’s cheeks and a thought occurs to Dean. “Unless you like… do other things when you –“  
  
“Oh, God – no,” Castiel says quickly. “This is strictly a job for me. Other performers may masturbate to their calls, but I don’t.”  
  
“Oh, okay,” Dean says, only a little flustered at hearing Cas say the word ‘masturbate’, which is kinda stupid considering Dean’s heard all kinds of dirty words come out of that mouth. Maybe it’s the blunt way he says it. It doesn’t matter, because now Dean’s wondering about their phone call that seems like forever ago now instead of a couple months. He could’ve _sworn_ Cas was… Wow, the guy must be really good at his job because Dean could’ve sworn Cas came. No, Dean’s sure he did. There’s no way he could’ve faked that orgasm. Dean heard him on the other side of the fucking wall.  
  
Either way, there’s no use in mulling over it. Dean quirks a smile at him. “You know, I’m curious about the behind-the-scenes of this anyway. Unless you’d rather have privacy, I’m fine if you stay. Sex doesn’t bother me none.”  
  
Cas stares at him for a long moment before sitting again. “If you’re sure.”  
  
Dean grins wider, choosing to ignore the voice in his head that’s reminding him that he’s going to hell for this. “So, this Anna chick sends you the calls?”  
  
“Yes. She’s like a dispatcher. She takes her own calls, but she’s more of a coordinator for the performers - taking the payments and making note of special requests. She checks to see who’s on the clock and who would like to handle a certain call, unless the caller requests a specific performer. Her job was supposed to be temporary, but she’s managed to convince our boss, Crowley, that talking with a live person adds a personal touch.”  
  
Dean recalls that bubbly voice who greeted him. Perhaps that was Anna he spoke to. “Wow, I didn’t realize it was so organized like that,” he murmurs. He honestly had no idea how phone sex lines were run, so it’s actually interesting to hear what goes in between talking to the dispatcher and the actual phone sex part. “So what’s she looking to send your way now?”  
  
Castiel unlocks his phone to reread the message. “Looks like it’s a male who wants to roleplay an office romance where his secretary – me - seduces him in his office. He’ll top, I’ll bottom. And he wants me to call him either Mr. Smith or Sir. There might be spanking involved, depending on his mood.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s, uh, specific.”  
  
There’s a sparkle in Cas’ eye at the comment. “Some people know what they want. Besides, it’s a rather mild scenario, so it shouldn’t be too uncomfortable for you to witness.”  
  
Dean snorts out a laugh. Somehow, it’s too strange hearing that phrase come out of Cas’ mouth. Cas, the dorky artist who risks getting caught in a storm to paint the clouds and hasn’t even had a damn popsicle until a week ago. But somehow, a roleplaying sex game that could involve _spanking_ is considered _mild_ to him.  
  
“You better not make me laugh, Dean,” Castiel warns him, though it’s apparent he’s suppressing a smile.  
  
Dean holds his hands up in surrender. “I won’t say a peep.” Castiel narrows his eyes at him before typing back his confirmation for the call. “Although, I can’t guarantee complete control over my face.”  
  
Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but then his phone comes to life, ringing with some sort of jazzy saxophone tune that makes Dean laugh again. Castiel silences him with a deadly glare before taking a breath and answering the call.  
  
“Hello, this is Dmitri. How are you this evening, Mr. Smith?”  
  
A tingle races down Dean’s back at hearing the deep, sultry way Castiel’s voice transforms into his Dmitri persona. To cover it up, he smirks at Cas, making sure to catch his eye, which only earns him an eye roll in response and nothing more.  
  
Dean listens in, but surprisingly, the call doesn’t turn dirty right away. Since the caller seemed to know what he wanted, Dean half expected them to jump right into it. For now, the scenario seems to be that ‘Dmitri’ is working late with ‘Mr. Smith’, but other than Cas using a seductive voice to respond to whatever the guy is saying, it’s pretty PG. There are only phrases on Cas’ end like “ _Yes, Mr. Smith_ ” or “ _I made your appointment for the fifteenth at two o’clock_ ”. Just simple conversation, really. In fact, about ten minutes goes by of them just _talking_. Cas – well, _Dmitri_ , is just saying stuff that’s heard in just about every cliché boss-secretary relationship. Appointments and meetings and faxing shit.  
  
Well, this is less glamorous than he thought it would be. Pulling out his phone, Dean opens up a random game. It’s better than weirdly switching between watching Cas and the paused image on the TV screen. He focuses on defending his house from zombies, rather proud of his regiment of plants he’s aligned across his lawn, until he hears a shift in Cas’ tone.  
  
“You know, Mr. Smith, there’s still some time until your next meeting. And… well, it’s a little hot in here, wouldn’t you say?”  
  
Dean freezes but doesn’t dare look away from his phone.  
  
“I hope you don’t mind if I slip off my jacket. It’ll make organizing these files much more comfortable… You seem to look a little warm yourself, Sir. Would you like me to hang up your jacket?... What do you mean, Sir? I’m not up to anything. I just want you to feel good and _comfortable_.”  
  
Dean chuckles quietly at the false innocence in Cas’ voice. It gets a pillow tossed at him. It’s not too difficult to focus back on his game, but Dean still listens to the way Cas paints the scene. How he describes loosening Mr. Smith’s tie, leaving lingering touches over his arms and shoulders, brushing fingers through his hair. It’s actually torturous to listen to, and the words aren’t even directed at Dean. Cas is teasing the fuck out of this poor bastard, dragging out every second.  
  
Dean’s mouth goes dry when Dmitri finally ends up kissing Mr. Smith, having a sudden flashback to his own phone call. The way Cas describes kissing – god _damn_. Dean had no idea there was such a way to describe kissing to someone and actually turn them on the way Cas does, especially since it’s probably the least sexual thing in the grand scheme. Kissing is just kissing.  
  
It doesn’t get any better for Dean when Dmitri ends up sitting in Mr. Smith’s lap. Just like how he straddled Dean in their fake scenario. Fuck…  
  
“Mr. Smith, can I tell you a secret?” A pause. “You drive me crazy. From the moment you hired me, I’ve wanted you so bad. Wanted your lips. Wanted to feel your hands on me. Wanted to feel your _cock_.”  
  
Dean can’t help but glance over towards the other end of the couch on the last, emphasized word. Castiel’s eyes meet his, and Dean raises his eyebrows. The corner of Cas’ mouth twitches upwards.  
  
“Yes, your hands feel so good. Wrapping around my waist. Pulling me closer. Oh god, Sir. I feel you through your pants. You’ve wanted me too, hm? How long have you been hard like that, Mr. Smith? Since I sat on your lap? Since I kissed you? Took off your jacket? Or was it when I simply walked into your office?”  
  
Well, if Dean were to answer that question, he’s felt a twinge of arousal ever since Cas said ‘ _Hello_ ’. Even though there was some time in there that Dean didn’t pay attention to, it didn’t go away. And ever since Cas started that small flame, Dean’s been gradually getting thicker in his jeans.  
  
“Yeah? You like me sitting on your lap? Like feeling my hard cock brush against yours through our pants?” Cas takes a sharp inhale that nearly scares Dean out of his skin, but the dude hasn’t moved an inch. “Oh, Mr. Smith, it feels so good – dragging our cocks together like this.”  
  
Dean sits there, trying _really_ hard to focus on his game and _not_ listen to Cas detail the way Mr. Smith pulls both their erections from their pants and jerks them off slowly. And then how afterwards, Dmitri undresses them both and bends over the desk while Mr. Smith fingers him open. Jesus – Cas is making all these sounds and noises while still keeping the scene alive through his storytelling in a way that’s way too vivid for Dean to imagine. Yet somehow, the son of a bitch is sitting at the other end of the couch looking unfazed.  
  
Though, not completely unfazed. The few, absolutely wrong times Dean looks away from his phone at Cas while he’s moaning or spewing all sorts of filthy fantasies to this Mr. Smith guy, Cas’ face is twisted in fake pleasure. Dean supposes it’d be pretty damn hard to sell phone sex while keeping a completely straight face.  
  
It’s to the point in the scenario that Dmitri is getting fucked on Mr. Smith’s desk, and everything is becoming more intense – as if it wasn’t before. Even from where Dean’s sitting, he can hear the occasional loud, snapping sound from over the phone, which is always followed by a convincing, desperate cry from Cas. So it seems the guy was in the mood for spanking after all.  
  
“Oh, Sir, your thick cock feels so good in me. So fucking good. I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Cas moans and pants in a way that actually makes it sound like his body was shaking from being pounded into. From the way Cas’ voice has become hitched, Dean guesses Mr. Smith is nearing his end, though he can’t hear what’s being said when Cas pauses his dirty talk.  
  
Dean’s unbearably hard in his pants. Besides the slapping sounds – which sounds more like a snapping belt – he has no idea what Mr. Smith could be saying on the other end of the line. He can only guess based on Cas’ responses. It doesn’t matter because Dean’s imagination has been filling in the blanks for what it must be like in Mr. Smith's enviously, glorious position. Imagining a universe where maybe he’s the director of sales and marketing with a fancy office and a name plate that says _Dean Smith_ and Cas is his devastatingly handsome secretary.  
  
And by Cas, he definitely means Dmitri.  
  
Dean has to keep shifting on the couch, discretely trying to hide his hard-on – he had no idea the pillow thrown at him earlier would be his savior - while his imagination is running wild with the scenario being described through ragged breaths and desperate moans just barely an arm’s length away. There’s no amount of Plants vs. Zombies that can distract him now. The staring contest he’s having with the black screen of his phone is touch and go, as he’s trying hard not to keep looking up only to catch Cas’ lust blown eyes when he does.  
  
Huh. So much for the guy not getting turned on by his calls. Even through Dmitri’s orgasm, though, Cas never touches himself or makes any indication that he’s aroused. Just the way his pupils are dilated, but perhaps that’s a natural response to saying such filthy words. As much as Dean tries not to, he watches Cas’ face through his fake orgasm. It’s a big mistake. Despite it not being real, Cas still makes the most unbelievable expression that now Dean will shamefully picture whenever he hears Cas take calls on the other side of the wall.  
  
“Please come in me, Mr. Smith,” Cas groans into the phone just as his eyes catch on Dean’s. He’s sure Cas is seriously fucking with him when he doesn’t look away, but continues to talk. “You sound so beautiful when you’re on the edge. Fill me up, Sir. I want to feel you come inside me.”  
  
All it takes is more encouraging moans and a few soft swears from Cas to know Mr. Smith came.  
  
Swallowing down the thick arousal in his throat, Dean means to put a playful spin on what just happened, but he’s caught under Cas’ gaze and can’t seem to look away. He can’t even manage a smirk – something that usually comes as second nature to him.  
  
Surprisingly, the call doesn’t end after Mr. Smith comes. They spend another five minutes finishing out the scenario; Dmitri saying how good it felt and speculating if any of their co-workers heard them fucking, so on and so forth. The call ends with the promise that Mr. Smith will be working late again _very_ soon, and how Dmitri is _more_ than willing to put in the extra hours as long as Mr. Smith needs his assistance. Dean decides then that it’s appropriate to tear his gaze away.  
  
The apartment is silent when the call ends. The _Direct TV_ logo is bouncing around the black screen with Dean tracking its every movement. He should say something. Break the tension that’s nearly choking him.  
  
Dean clears his throat, though it still comes out a little hoarse when he says, “Not bad, Dmitri.”  
  
“Thank you.” Despite the small hint of amusement, Dean’s surprised at the unaffected tone Cas takes on. Dean’s not sure what he was expecting. After hearing the guy moan and pant and cry out in fake pleasure for what had to be close to an hour, he expected a little more emotion in his voice. But nope, whatever desire was etched into Cas’ face is gone. Damn, this guy is way too good at his job.  
  
Dean goes to chug whatever’s left of his beer to get a grip on himself, but finds it’s disappointingly empty.  
  
“I’m out. You want another?”  
  
Cas shakes his head. “I can’t be too intoxicated for the rest of my calls tonight.”  
  
Dean nods. “Alright. I’m gonna go grab another and then we can power through the rose ceremony and then probably call it a night, huh?”  
  
Cas stands when Dean does. “While you do that, I’m going to take a quick bathroom break.” Before Dean can even acknowledge him, Cas is starting towards where the bathroom is down the hall. If he wasn’t so indifferent about the call, Dean would think Cas was going to rub one out. Dean meant to sneak a peek to see if Cas had any kind of boner, but to be caught looking would’ve been mortifying. If there was gonna be anything to make what just happened awkward, it’d probably be that. Besides, Dean shouldn’t even be thinking like that. They’re friends. And, while sometimes it’s harmless to acknowledge how hot your friends are, it’s probably crossing a line to assess their level of arousal for selfish gains.  
  
Sighing to himself, Dean makes his way to the kitchen as the sound of the bathroom door closing breaks up the quiet stillness. He takes the fleeting alone time to adjust himself in his pants to better hide his erection, but even the slightest touch nearly has him groaning outwardly. Biting his lip, Dean listens for any sounds. Fuck, he really shouldn’t. It’s all sorts of wrong. At the same time, he’s not sure he can sit through ten agonizing minutes with an aching boner while Cas is beside him.  
  
Against his better judgment, Dean makes quick work of opening his jeans and dragging out his leaking cock. He uses one hand grip the counter while the other starts jacking himself off. As much as he’d love to take his time with this, it’s gotta be quick and dirty.  
  
All sorts of images flash behind Dean’s eyes as he squeezes them close. Images of Cas leaned over some imaginary desk that’s in Dean’s imaginary office with his cock buried deep inside Cas. The pleasure nearly makes him moan, but he bites his lip harder to conceal the sound. Cas’ moans and filthy words echo through his mind, swirling around and consuming him, causing Dean’s breathing become erratic and sharp. It only takes a few more strokes before the hand gripping the counter moves to cup under the head of his cock, come spilling into his palm as his orgasm shudders through him. A small groan escapes him unauthorized, but he’s sure it was too quiet for Cas to hear from down the hall.  
  
Once Dean’s worked himself through, he rinses his spent in the sink and washes his hands before tucking his softening cock away, feeling far from sated. Sexual frustration still tangles in his stomach, but there’s not much he can do about that. Taking a breath, he grabs a beer from the fridge and returns to the couch just as the bathroom door opens. Dean’s settled with his feet propped when Cas walks back into the family room with an impassive expression as he sits down once again on his end and looks towards the TV. With guilt burning Dean’s face, he wordlessly picks up the remote and presses play.  
  
It proves difficult for Dean to even concentrate on the cocktail party and the rose ceremony. The phone call keeps playing on repeat, an endless soundtrack Dean can’t drown out no matter how hard he focuses on the same dramatic music that plays through every rose ceremony. Thoughts of how he just got off in the kitchen from it are weighing on his mind, too. Who knew guilt could compliment sexual frustration so well?  
  
If any part of it is bothering Cas, he doesn’t show it. He just makes a comment about which of the men were sent home and excuses himself for the night, thanking Dean for having him over with a typical Cas-smile – all in the eyes with only a small upwards pull of the corner of his mouth. Although, Dean can’t tell if it’s a tight smile or he’s just projecting. Probably the latter.  
  
Dean forces a smile in return and bids him a good night. When the door closes, he sighs. It barely takes any consideration before he walks to his bedroom, grabs a pillow, and carries it to the couch. There’s no way he’s sleeping in his bed tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)  
> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

The cool breeze carries the scent of rain as it caresses Castiel’s face, a paradox to the dangerous looking clouds coming in from the north, just beyond the city. With clouds as ominous as those, Castiel expects the wind to whip more harshly over the rooftop, threatening to tear his papers from his hands and spill his ink unwarranted. For now, though, the breeze is forgiving.

Yesterday, he didn’t have such good luck with trying to capture the clouds on paper. He also misjudged just how fast the storm was moving towards him, too focused on trying not to get frustrated at how he couldn’t replicate them to his satisfaction. Getting lost in art is not always as ideal as the thought is made to be. It sometimes gets you caught in the rain with your work bleeding across the page and onto the concrete. However, that’s the great thing about spring. The season offers a nice supply of storm fronts for him to marvel over, so he gets a second chance today and he’s determined to conquer the daunting cloud formations.  

Using a brush to dab some water into a more concentrated pocket of ink, he’s satisfied with how it lightens and gives more definition to his cloud. The brush is then set aside while he chooses one of his dip pens with a finer nib, drawing in discrete lines to give more shape within some of the bigger clouds before blending the line to make it more natural. 

Castiel takes a small breath, letting it dry for a couple minutes before pulling the picture back to assess his work. Much better, though not perfect. Then again, is anything really perfect? His mind answers himself by automatically conjuring the image of a certain next-door neighbor.

Heat rises into Castiel’s cheeks at the thought of Dean. That may be part of why he’s up on the roof again today. There are plenty of other projects he could be working on in his apartment where there’s no risk of getting rained on like yesterday, but that would’ve meant he was that much closer to Dean’s apartment, despite it being empty while the man in question is at work.

What was he thinking yesterday? It was a stupid, stupid thing to do. Careless, reckless, dangerous. Had he been in the privacy of his own apartment, there’s no way he would’ve gotten as aroused as he did. Alone, he’s able to separate that he’s performing a service for someone and assist them in obtaining pleasure without getting worked up himself. But when it comes to Dean…  As much as he tries to ignore his feelings or dismiss them, they’re still very much there - which is why it was completely irresponsible of him to take that call in Dean’s apartment.

To be fair, he honestly didn’t think it would end as it had. As far as Castiel could tell, Dean seemed honestly interested in his non-art work. For a moment, with the way Dean was joking around, Castiel forgot their history. Their progress as friends has been more than could ever be expected given what finally forced them to talk. Throughout his life, Castiel preferred keeping to himself. He never had an abundance of friends, let alone anyone he considered himself particularly close to – besides Gabriel. But his brother tended to act as a loose cannon. It always felt dangerous to put complete trust into him. And Balthazar, of course, in his strange ways of showing friendship that Castiel’s come to understand better. Although, he only met Balthazar a few years ago.

Then there was the time Castiel thought he’d found a person who honestly… cared, about him. Someone who he’s known most of his life. He really did believe, but it all was thrown back in his face and now the very reason why he’s living in Michigan rather than Illinois – apart from escaping his family.

Dean though… He’s become a person whose company Castiel enjoys greatly. A person he can talk to that’s not Gabriel or Balthazar. A person who helps Castiel find a car and fixes it up for him. Someone to eat popsicles with then laugh at the awful jokes printed on the sticks. A constant in his life that’s fallen into place way too quickly for what he’s used to. In the beginning, Castiel was doubtful their friendship would last, worried that whatever attraction Dean had for him would melt away when he realized Castiel wasn’t worth the chase. In a way, maybe Dean did realize that. Ever since Dean first proposed they become friends instead of dating, he hasn’t made one move on Castiel to advance them into something more. Which is what Castiel wanted, but…

Thunder rumbles off in the distance, tearing Castiel’s gaze from a nondescript point on the concrete. The harsh brick of the parapet he’s using to prop himself up is digging into his back and making his body stiff with the couple hours he’s been sitting here.

This is pointless. He shouldn’t be wallowing in disappointment that Dean is respecting what he wants, disappointed that whatever feelings Dean had for him have faded into something platonic. He should be glad for this change. With the way Castiel is, being friends is their only option. He’d rather have a lasting friendship with Dean than a fleeting hook up – or two - that ends in heartbreak. It’s just better that way.

Which is why Castiel seriously fucked up last night. Having Dean there, it was impossible _not_ to envision him in the place of Mr. Smith. He got so lost in the moment, so aroused by his own words and the thought of Dean doing those things to him, he could hardly keep from staring at Dean the entire time. The worst part? He _knew_ what he was doing to Dean. He took pleasure in the fact that his words were affecting Dean the way they were, and that was so wrong of him. Watching Dean fumble with his phone, cover his lap with the pillow, pupils blown wide in those darkened green eyes – Castiel couldn’t help but be that much more turned on. So much so that if he wanted to hold on to his unraveling self-restraint, he _had_ to take care of himself. And at the cost of an incredible amount of guilt and shame, he got off in Dean’s bathroom. _Dean’s bathroom_.

He groans, pressing his fingers into his eyes in a feeble attempt to push the thoughts away.

Incorrigible. That’s what he is. There’s no way Dean didn’t know what he ran off to do. He tried to maintain his composure, but he’s sure he failed. Besides the morning after their first encounter in the hallway, Castiel had never seen Dean look so uncomfortable. And now, Castiel’s possibly ruined whatever good thing they had going. Back to awkward nods in the hallway and skirting around each other. Just the way they were before.

The breeze blows a little rougher. The clouds are moving closer. The thunder is a notch louder.

With a sigh, Castiel relents his painting for the day and shoves the torn out pieces of watercolor paper back into his sketch book. They’re mostly dry now with the wind and him just sitting here ruminating in his head for however long. He stands, wincing at the stiffness in his back and the soreness of his ass. He should really bring a pillow if he’s going to sit up here for hours at a time.

Instead of collecting his things, though, he pulls out his phone. There’s still one other thing Castiel was trying to escape with his coming up here. Gabriel.

_Hiya Cassie!_  
_Sorry it’s been a while, little bro. So much has been going on, but look! I’m still in L.A, baby! A lot’s happened and it’s easier to explain over the phone, which is working again (I swear it wasn’t my fault). My contacts were wiped, so call me when you get this. Same number._  
 _Your favorite brother,_  
 _Gabriel xoxo_

Yes, Castiel memorized every word of Gabriel’s scrawl handwriting. Ever since he got the postcard last week, he’s been doing nothing but rereading it over and over. Just as he confessed to Dean, he’s been wary about calling. He should be thrilled to finally know Gabriel is okay, but it’s frustrating. It’s frustrating that he even has to worry about his brother like this. They may not be as close as Dean is with his own brother, but in Castiel’s family, Gabriel’s all he has. So to receive a – a stupid postcard in the mail that has a smudge of chocolate on the corner and was no doubt written with a cocky, careless grin, Castiel’s been putting off dealing with it.

But with the transition of April to May, Dean will probably want some sort of confirmation if Castiel will be accompanying him to California. It’s time to call Gabriel and reach some sort of absolution. With some semblance of determination found, Castiel presses the phone icon on Gabriel’s contact.

It rings three times, and Castiel’s almost sure it’ll go to voicemail, until it picks up abruptly.

“Cassie! You’re alive!” A breathless Gabriel greets him through a wall of background noises.

Castiel scoffs, “ _I’m_ alive? Gabriel, you’ve been AWOL for the past two months!”

“Well, a postcard doesn’t exactly take a week and a half to reach its destination. What was I supposed to think?”

He huffs, not bothering to come up with an excuse. “How did you know it was me, anyway? I thought you lost your contacts.”

“Michigan number, duh.”

“Uh huh. So do you mind explaining what the hell you did to your phone?”

Gabe chuckles, the sound more clear than it was a moment ago. “Jeez, so we’re already past the pleasantries and jumping right into it, then? I’m curious, Cassie, do you always skip the foreplay when you seduce your lovers?”

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose. His brother has not changed one bit. Although, he will admit he finds the foreplay comment slightly amusing, even if it’s a little much coming from a sibling. If only Gabriel knew what really pays his bills. “I’m waiting for my answer,” he says, ignoring the second remark. It’s always best not to play into Gabriel’s game.

“Fine,” Gabriel sighs out the word dramatically. “As I said on the postcard, it wasn’t my fault.”

“Sure.”

“So I fooling around with this girl on her boat -“

“Actually, I changed m-“

“And things got a little out of hand, as did my phone. I wasn’t about to go diving down twenty feet to rescue a phone that would be waterlogged beyond belief. I didn’t have enough money to get another until recently.”

At least Gabriel spared him of the details. Still, whenever Gabe hasn’t been able to pay his phone bill, he’s always sent a postcard to tell Castiel as much. So why not this time?

“First of all, you’re an idiot. Second of all, why didn’t you send me something like you have in the past? Or borrow a phone to call me?”

“Wow, no need to be rude, Cas. You didn’t even ask me if the sex was worth it. It totally was, by the way. And, um,” Gabriel clears his throat. “I may have also misplaced my wallet, which had your address in it. And before you nag me about it, I’ll work on memorizing your number or tattoo it on my friggin’ hand. But someone eventually found it in one of the prop closets and now here we are, _reunited and it feels so good!_ ” Gabriel’s speech transitions into singing, making Castiel roll his eyes.

“I reiterate – you’re an idiot. Do I even want to know how and why it ended up in a prop closet? Please tell me you’re not going after high school theater girls…”

Gabriel inhales incredulously. “Seriously, Cassie? You think I’m willing to go _that_ far for a little action? With that low of an opinion, are you sure you’re not Ishim?”

Castiel tenses at the mention of their father, but brushes past it while keeping his eyes on the rolling clouds. “Sorry.”

If Gabriel’s honestly offended, it doesn’t show in his tone. “It’s cool. _But_ , that does lead me to the exciting news I wanted to share with you.”

“Oh?” Castiel raises his eyebrows.

“I have a job! A stable one. As much as I love putting on fake mustaches and getting freaky with a girl here and there, this one I get to come back to every day. The pay could be better, but there are worse jobs than being a PA on a movie set.”

Castiel’s mouth drops open. “PA – as in a production assistant?”

“Yep! Pretty neat, huh?”

“That’s – Gabe, that’s amazing!” Castiel couldn’t be more relieved. Maybe this means Gabriel won’t be traipsing around the country anymore. Maybe he can save up some money and not live so sporadically. Maybe there’s hope for the both of them making it on their own. Sure, they’re not doctors with huge paychecks and prestige, but maybe they’ll be alright.

Castiel listens dutifully as Gabriel describes the set he works on and how he managed to slip into the job. It’s a low-budget movie that’s cast with actors that have either yet to make their debut or have only been in other small productions. Not surprisingly, Gabriel slept with one of the women who works on the set, so when he visited her at work to return her forgotten phone from the night before, he was there when an unhappy PA quit after refusing to work with one of the actresses. And Gabriel, capable of manual labor and following simple instruction, was there to pick up the slack. Plus, he’d apparently gotten quite knowledgeable about how a set runs after being on a handful of porno shoots.

“So does that mean you’re dating her?” Castiel asks.

Gabriel laughs. “Are you kidding? She kicked me to the curb the moment I joined the crew. Said dating co-workers always ended badly. We had some fun, but I didn’t care. I got my radar on someone else anyway.”

Castiel sighs. It was too much to hope Gabriel would’ve gotten himself a relationship that lasts longer than a week or two. “She’s working on the same movie you are?”

“Not just working – _starring_. She’s one of the friggin’ leads, Cas! Ironically enough, she’s the one who made that other guy quit, and let me tell ya, she may be a real piece of work with sharp tongue, but she’s a _goddess_.”

“Wow,” Castiel raises his eyebrows. “I’ve never heard you sound so… invested in a woman before. What’s her name?”

“Kali,” Gabriel sighs. “She’s one helluva woman, and I haven’t even gotten the guts to try to talk to her yet. I –“ Gabriel stops abruptly when Castiel hears a loud buzzing sound from the other end of the line. “Shit, sorry, Cas. I gotta run.”

“Wait – I needed to ask you something first,” Castiel rushes out.

“What’s up? Nothing bad, right?” Gabriel asks slowly, tone serious for the first time since they reconnected.

“No, it’s just – I might be visiting California with a friend in June. I was wondering if we could meet up. I mean, I’ll be at the opposite end of the state, but I can find a way to get to L.A, if you had the time?”

“Hell yeah! Text me the dates and I’ll see what the schedule’s like – because, you know, I actually have a schedule now. Crazy, right?”

Castiel chuckles. “Very. I hope it works out. It’s been some time since we’ve seen each other.”

“I hope so, too,” Gabriel says, and Castiel can hear the smile in his voice. Before Castiel can form any words to say a final goodbye, the line beeps with the ended call. He’s relieved, though. It’s silly to think, but somehow, saying goodbye to Gabriel feels like… like maybe it’ll be the last one and he doesn’t know it. Shaking the dark thought away, Castiel bends over and collects his stuff just as a stronger gust of wind blows over the roof top. He hurries towards the door as he feels the first small drops of rain carried on the breeze, locking it behind him once he’s safely inside.

He just makes it into the safety of his apartment when his phone rings. Balthazar.

“Hello?” He fumbles to hold it to his ear while trying not to drop his supplies in the process of answering it.

“I hope you’re decent because we got a meeting to go to.”

*****

Castiel can hardly believe it. He attributes the series of events to sheer luck, even though Balthazar reprimands him whenever he says that. But how is it nothing but that? When Balthazar called him earlier in the week and ushered him off to meet with the owner of a local café, he had no idea what to expect. It definitely was not to be given the chance to show off his work.

The café was relatively new and trying to gain more attention and customers by hosting events, anything from poetry readings to small musical performances, and now, local art. They’d maxed out the number of artists they were accepting to fill their bare walls with creations, until one such artist withdrew for reasons unknown to Castiel. Confidentiality, and all that. As soon as Balthazar got the call that an artist was wanted to take part in the exhibit, that’s when they booked it over to the venue to meet with the owner, Eve, who seemed more than happy to meet with him.

As it was explained, she wanted to showcase three different artists’ work every month with a certain theme. Even though May had already begun, she wanted to run a test trial for the remaining weeks and if it was successful, she’d let them stay on through June before finding new artists to display. It was an intriguing idea, and Castiel was beyond thrilled Balthazar managed to get him in to meet with her before the spot was filled by someone else. As soon as Eve took a look at Castiel’s work - she was especially fascinated with his ink paintings and drawings - a contract was set up and a handshake sealed it.  

It’s been a whirlwind of preparations - he basically ran on coffee while he filled his days with ink and nibs and brushes when he wasn’t trying to squeeze in a few calls at night - to lead him to where he is now, walking through the doors of the café and feeling a small sense of pride to see one of his paintings hung on a nearby wall. Pulling at the tie around his neck subconsciously, he lets his feet carry him over to it. It’s one he’d started painted as soon as he got home from the meeting, enthralled to produce something to fit Eve’s theme for May. Flowers.

This particular piece was inspired by _Beauty and the Beast_. It’s of the iconic rose floating under the glass dome, a few fallen petals resting at the bottom. The three-dimensional effect of the curved glass brought a new challenge with the ink that Castiel enjoyed, and he’s quite proud of it. The way the glass dome looks like it’s dripping down as it protects the rose, the miniscule veins within the petals, the delicate shading that could’ve easily looked like a blob of black, but actually gave form to the different shapes.

“A beautiful piece of art,” an accented voice comments behind him. Castiel steps to the side, glancing at the man behind him. The suit he’s wearing makes Castiel feel severely underdressed, even though his own suit isn’t exactly from the thrift store. A relic of his past life that he wanted to throw out, but Balthazar convinced him it’d be useful for events like these. But this man, face donned in dark, five o’clock shadow, looks like he could be a runaway mannequin from Nordstrom’s. That British accent does him no favors either. It only takes an instant to know he comes from real money. Castiel would know. The man offers him a smile, not being shy about giving him a look over. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Castiel flushes. “I, um, I’m not sure. I’m not usually one to brag.”

The man raises his eyebrows. “You’re the artist.”

“That I am,” Castiel confirms.

“Davies. Michael Davies.” A hand is held out to him, along with a charming smile. “You can call me Mick, though.”

Castiel racks his mind for any familiarity to the last name but comes up with nothing. Good, he’s from no family Castiel’s ever met before. He accepts the handshake and feels less anxious about revealing his name, despite that fact that it’s labeled beneath his painting.

“Castiel Novak.”

Mick grips his hand a little too intimately for it to be innocent. Castiel will give him one thing, he’s confident.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Castiel. I’m certainly glad I decided to stop in tonight.”

Castiel withdraws his hand, but smiles the way he’s done hundreds of times before in these situations. “As am I. I hope you enjoy the rest of the exhibit. If you’ll excuse me though, I must check in with the owner.”

Mick nods, a sparkle in his eye. It’s a sparkle that’s all too knowing. “I hope to see you later in the evening.”

With one last polite nod, Castiel walks towards the back where Eve’s office is. He’s barely out of view when Balthazar just about tackles him.

“Ow, what the –“

“Who’s your new friend, Cas?”

Castiel shakes him off. “He’s not my friend. We just met.”

“The point of my question is not what he is to you, it’s _who_ he is,” Balthazar huffs.

“His name is Mick – Michael Davies.”

Balthazar grins. “So for which business do you think he’ll be a customer for?”

Castiel groans. “Balthazar.”

“What? It’s an honest question.”

“Considering I don’t broadcast my other occupation to strangers, it’s safe to assume art. I mean, he complimented the rose painting, but that doesn’t mean he likes it enough to buy.”

Balt shrugs. “Perhaps not, but it’s a start. If the way he eye-fucked you means anything, I’m sure he’ll be willing to buy if it means getting your number out of the deal.” Castiel huffs but decides not to encourage the conversation any further. He knows Balthazar likes to say these things to get under his skin. With a final roll of his eyes, he sets off to check in with Eve, in which she informs him what time she’ll make an announcement to guests and give a quick introduction to the artists involved in the exhibit.

From there, Castiel finds Balthazar and they begin checking out the other works that are being displayed throughout the café. He’s thankful his friend is giving up his Saturday night to be here with him because if it weren’t for Balthazar, there’s no doubt Castiel would be floundering right now. He’s never been too savvy when it comes to meeting new people and making friends, Dean being a walking example of that.

Most of his life, he’s had no problem keeping to himself and his art. And at times, he really had no choice. In school, people thought he was the weird, quiet kid who doodled in class instead of paying attention. They’d snicker when he was called out by the teacher. At lunch, Castiel sat alone if he wasn’t sitting with his one and only friend growing up. Even then, Bartholomew didn’t completely understand Castiel, but they cliqued. Bart was what Balthazar is for Castiel now. A friend who accepted his quirks. And Castiel was just fine with one person accepting him for who he was, even if everyone else didn’t.

The wine must be getting to Castiel if he’s thinking about elementary school lunches with Bartholomew, though. He’s become more relaxed ever since the waiters began flitting around with bottles of wine for legal-aged guests to have. Because nothing says art event more than having wine. He’s chatted with quite a few people and given out business cards with his and Balthazar’s numbers as well as his website. After his success with his last few commissions, Balt decided it was time they had cards made.

About two hours in, Castiel catches Mick from across the room, taking the final sip of his wine and handing it to the nearest waiter. They make eye contact, and Castiel can only blush a little when Mick winks at him before making his way through the thick crowd, the intent to talk to him clear in his eyes.

“Um, Balt-“

“Cas!” A mess of red curls bounces into Castiel’s line of sight, and he has to step back a little for his eyes to focus on the face better. A smile breaks out across his face.

“Charlie? What are you doing here?”

“Coming to see you, duh,” she snorts before throwing her arms around his neck. Castiel falters for a bit – he’s still trying to get used to the overt affection Charlie has a tendency to show – but hugs her back. He catches the way Mick pauses, an eyebrow going up. Oh, he’s definitely got the wrong idea about what’s going on, but Castiel secretly thanks Charlie for her excellent timing. Offering Castiel a little smirk, Mick turns and weaves his way through the crowd, heading towards the exit.

“But how did you know?” Castiel clarifies as they break apart from their hug.

Charlie smirks. “Who do you think?”

“Sorry we couldn’t make it sooner.” There’s the voice. The voice that manages to send shivers down Castiel’s back without even trying. Castiel looks over Charlie’s shoulder to see Dean with two glasses of wine in each hand, bright smile directed right at him. He must have some sort of look on his face because Dean huffs as he passes one of the glasses to Charlie. “Unless you don’t want us here.”

Castiel shakes his head quickly. “No – no, it’s not that. I just didn’t expect either of you to be here. You,” Castiel ducks his head, feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, “You don’t have to be obliged to come to these events.”

Most of the week, Castiel will admit things were a little off between them. They didn’t completely revert back to their old ways of dancing around each other, but there was a sense of I-know-what-you-did hanging between them that dampened things a little. It didn’t help that they didn’t see much of each other, given Castiel locked himself away in order to be prepared for tonight. There’s no way Castiel wanted to lose Dean’s friendship though, so he texted Dean about the event just yesterday. Dean was happy for him, but he never mentioned wanting to come with, and that was perfectly okay with Castiel. He was just grateful for his excited emojis and that they were slipping back into normalcy.

“Oh my god, Cas. Shut up.” Charlie rolls her eyes as she takes a sip of her wine, but there’s no malice to her tone. In fact, she even sounds fond.

“That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard,” Dean adds.

“Yeah, Cassie. If anyone’s obliged, it’s me,” Balthazar jokes with a nudge against his shoulder. Castiel shoots him a look, but he knows full well Balt’s joking.

“Oh my - is that a painting of Hermione in flowers?” And without waiting for any sort of answer, Charlie sets off across the room. Dean snorts, watching her go and Castiel grins. When he saw the painting earlier, he immediately thought of Charlie. It didn’t take him long to learn that Charlie is a self-proclaimed nerd. She nearly had a heart attack when she’d made a Harry Potter reference that went right over his head, and then proceeded to lecture him about what he was missing out on. Dean looked amused underneath his mock sympathy.

When Castiel turns his attention back to Dean and Balthazar, he finds that Dean had wandered off a bit to raid a waiter for his meatballs while Balthazar’s busy staring across the room at someone. Castiel follows his gaze to a woman in a sleek black dress, shoulder length hair curled softly while something mischievous gleamed in her eye as she stared back. Bela Talbot. He met her earlier when he came back from the bathroom to see Balthazar giving that same smile he gives to any woman he wants to take home.

“You can go talk to her, you know. I don’t need a babysitter,” Castiel says nonchalantly.

“She’s trouble. I can tell,” Balthazar murmurs, but doesn’t look away from her.

“It seems you’d be a good match, then.”

Balthazar snorts. “Castiel, are you trying to get rid of me so you can be alone with your boy toy?”

He sputters, grateful Dean’s busy chasing down another waiter with cream puffs. “No, that’s not –”

“Oh relax, Cas. I just enjoy getting a rise out of you. You know, you make it too easy,” Balthazar laughs as he takes a sip of his wine. Castiel huffs under his breath.

“Ass.”

“Alright, I’m ready for the grand tour of Cas’ stuff,” Dean says through a mouthful of cream puff as he returns from his assault of the waiters.

Balthazar clasps Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “He’ll be your guide. I think it’s time I duck out in favor of something more thrilling.”

Dean grins, knowing full well what Balthazar means. “Sounds like a good way to end the night.”

After downing the rest of his wine, Balthazar bids them goodnight before shouldering his way across the café to Bela. Castiel isn’t very surprised when he sees them making their way toward the exit about thirty seconds later. Chuckling, Dean turns back to Castiel after watching Balthazar make his escape.

“So what, do these art events double as a matchmaking service?”

“Unfortunately, I think that’s true,” Castiel says with a tiny smile. Dean raises his eyebrows, curiosity sparking in them.

“Really. Is that you talking from personal experience?”

Castiel’s knee-jerk reaction is to scoff and point out how ridiculous the notion is, but then he’s reminded of how very obvious Mick was in his interest earlier. Castiel may be oblivious to flirting most of the time, but Mick was anything but subtle. His slight hesitation must speak something to Dean because his eyes widen.

“Shit, Cas, really? Who is it?” He swears he’s imagining the tightness of Dean’s tone. Projecting what he wants to hear.

He shakes his head quickly. “No – there’s been no one.” It’s not exactly a lie. He has no interest in Mick and they barely talked. Besides, Castiel doesn’t want to fuel this conversation any more than it’s gone. Part of him is worried that Dean might get some ideas and wander off and get a number or two, and while he doesn’t doubt Dean gets his fair share of numbers given to him, Castiel’s not sure he could stomach watching that.

Thankfully, Charlie approaches them at the perfect moment. “So guess who just put a bid on that Hermione piece over there.”

“Nice.” Dean gives her a high five while Castiel grins at her.

“That’s wonderful, Charlie. I do hope you get it.”

Charlie smiles at him and gently punches his shoulder. “Come on, Big Shot. We’re ready to see what we actually came here for!”

With the event ending soon, Castiel leads them through the crowd of people to show them the pieces he submitted. Charlie adores his _Beauty and the Beast_ inspired rose painting. Dean seems to favor the one of a field of orchids, although he says he likes all of them. With about ten minutes left before the event ends, the three of them decide it’s too early to call it a night, so they drive to Dorothy’s place, an older apartment complex that’s about ten minutes from downtown. When Castiel questions why they’re at Dorothy’s apartment when she’s out of town, Charlie just gives him a soft smile.

“Most of my stuff’s here.”

“Do you even remember where your actual apartment is?” Dean teases.

Charlie waves her hand at him. “Details.”

“You’re lucky your lease is up in July,” Dean snorts.

While Charlie puts herself in charge of making some popcorn, Dean and Castiel go through the shelf of DVDs. Dean’s arguing for _Airplane!_ while Castiel’s insisting on _Moulin Rouge!_ – it’s one of the movies he remembers watching with Gabriel when they were younger.  

“Come on, Cas. No musicals,” Dean whines. “ _Airplane!_ is a classic! I have a drinking problem? Don’t call me Shirley? It’s comedy gold!”

Castiel levels Dean with a blank stare. “How is alcoholism and someone requesting not to be called a certain name funny?”

“See? That’s exactly why you need to watch it! You’re missing out,” Dean says, shaking the DVD box in his hand with an eyebrow cocked in a way Castiel supposes is meant to be convincing. Castiel resents the way it makes him want to smile when he’s supposed to be holding strong for _Moulin Rouge!_

“Okay boys,” Charlie announces as she whisks in with two bowls of popcorn and three root beers tucked under her arm. “What’s it gonna be?”

Both Dean and Castiel present their cases to her for their respective movies, and after some careful consideration, _Moulin Rouge!_ wins out. When Dean grumbles under his breath, Charlie gives him an empathetic smile.

“Sorry, Dean, but how am I supposed to pass up Nicole Kidman?”

“And Ewan McGregor,” Castiel adds under his breath, but Dean doesn’t miss it and the smile that creeps over his face makes Castiel regret saying it.

“So Cas has the hots for Ewan McGregor. Duly noted.”

“You’d be lying if you said you didn’t,” Castiel retorts, and Dean chuckles.

The movie is set into the DVD player and they all get settled on the couch; Charlie claiming the loveseat while Dean and Castiel are lounging on either end of the couch with a bowl of popcorn between them. For a moment, Castiel spares a look over at Dean. He and Charlie weren’t dressed nearly as much as Castiel had to be tonight. Charlie slipped away to change into something more comfortable, but Dean’s still in his button-up and nice pair of jeans. He unbuttoned the top buttons, letting the collar hang open to expose a tease of his collarbone while the sleeves have been rolled up on his well-muscled forearms. And then there’s the way Dean lifts his bottle of root beer to his lips and they wrap around the opening, throat rippling with each swallow…  

Castiel’s already shed his jacket and loosened his tie to relax, but his fingers itch to find more ventilation for the heat that washes over his body at the sight just out of arms reach. He snaps his head back to the movie and determinedly keeps his attention on the screen. About an hour into it, they pause it when Dorothy calls Charlie and she escapes into the bedroom to talk to her for a few minutes.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” Castiel tells Dean, glancing over at him.

“It’s nothing,” Dean shrugs but shifts his position on the couch, hands rubbing over his knees. “Hey, so, um, have you talked to your brother yet about visiting?”

That’s right. Gabe called Castiel last night to give him the okay for them to see each other. Castiel spent the rest of the night on the computer researching travel options and the logistics of how the trip can work. He meant to tell Dean earlier. “Yes, actually. Just yesterday we worked something out.”

Relief washes over Dean’s face. “Okay, awesome. So, uh, how long’s it been seen you’ve seen him?”

Castiel breathes out slowly. “He left home the summer going into my freshmen year of college, but he visited once after around…” Castiel does the math quickly in his head. “Three years ago?”

“Shit,” Dean breathes out. “Not even for holidays?”

“Gabriel doesn’t care much for holidays. They’re just excuses to drink and nothing more.”

“Still,” Dean shakes his head, “I can’t imagine not seeing my brother for so long.”

Castiel chuckles. “Family is a very different concept for the both of us, Dean.” He hates the look of sadness Dean casts his way, so Castiel feels the need to add, “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve missed Gabriel very much throughout the years, but him and I don’t share the same relationship you and Sam share. Growing up, he may have been my favorite sibling and I love him, but we’re very different. Then he finally got out and,” he lifts a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, “I understood perfectly well. He wanted to stay out, and I wanted that for him too. And if that meant we didn’t see each other, then that was fine. We’ve kept in touch on a semi-regular basis.”

Even when Castiel thinks he’s summed up his relationship with Gabriel the best he could, Dean is still staring at him like some sort of puzzle that can’t be solved. “Got out…” he ends up echoing, a strange look of curiosity twisting together with a faraway look, as if he were recalling some memory. “Jesus,” Dean breathes after a moment. “Who the hell was your family?”

Castiel knows by the soft way Dean murmurs the words, as if accidentally voicing his thoughts that weren’t meant to be spoken, he doesn’t mean any offense, or even for Castiel to answer the question. It still stirs something bitter in his stomach, though. Before he can even decide to give a sarcastic answer or change the subject, Charlie’s shuffling back into the living room and plopping herself onto the loveseat.

“Alright, anyone need a pee break before we resume?”

When they both decline, the movie is playing again. Castiel shifts on the couch, curling his legs up and laying his head on the pillow resting against the armrest. He makes sure that Dean still has enough room, but he hardly seems bothered by Castiel’s change in position. He watches the movie, but he’s not really watching it in the present. Instead, it’s playing through his memory; building a fort with Gabriel in his room in front of the TV and popping one of Gabriel’s special bags of kettle corn that their parents deplored. He remembers trying to get Hael to join them, and the innocent frown she gave him in return.

“That movie’s for adults, Cassiel. Mother and Father will be mad,” she told him. She was too young to pronounce his name correctly. He remembers feeling guilty, because she was right. Mother and Father _would_ be mad.

“It’s just this one movie,” he insisted, despite his growing doubt.

“Come on, Hay, don’t be such a baby,” Gabriel teased from across the room while the opening scene played.

Hael huffed indignantly and turned to stomp away, but Castiel caught her hand before she could leave. “Please, Hael. Don’t tell them.”

Later that night, when Naomi and Ishim finally came home, Castiel and Gabriel were reprimanded. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry, and there was something about that feeling that felt… good.

He’s not really sure when it happens, but he falls asleep.

When Castiel slowly comes out of a dream he can’t even remember, he blinks open his eyes against the early morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains. Fuck. He accidentally slept over? He glances at the other end of the couch to see Dean has slumped over at some point and is fast asleep. Even Charlie’s still sleeping on the loveseat. Slowly, Castiel sits up, resisting a small groan at the kink in his neck from the awkward sleeping angle. He checks his phone, noting the time at just past 7:30 in the morning. It’s way too damn early to be up.

He’s not entirely sure what to do. Does he go back to sleep? Does he leave? He runs his hand through his hair, grimacing at the remnants of mousse that was used to style it for yesterday’s event. Balthazar made threats for if he didn’t use it. Right now, what Castiel really longs for is a shower.

With that decided, he quietly gets to his feet. As he shuffles into the kitchen, he’s relieved to find a small notepad hanging on the fridge. There’s a pen beside it, attached to the fridge thanks to a magnet, and he uses it to write a quick note for Dean:

_Went home to shower and change. Meet up at 9:30 for breakfast? Bring Charlie, too, if she’s able._  
_Text me and let me know._  
 _-Castiel_

He moves carefully so the old, wooden floor boards don’t creak too much, and sets the note on the coffee table in front of Dean. Without intending to, Castiel spares a moment to appreciate how peaceful Dean looks while sleeping. Granted, it’s the not the most graceful sight – half his face his smooched against his arm, serving as a makeshift pillow since the real one fell off the couch – but it brings a small smile to his face. Realizing what he’s doing, Castiel snaps himself out of his staring and collects his car keys and wallet from the table and leaves the apartment, hinges squeaking quietly before the door shuts with a click.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :))  
> [My Tumblr](http://blissfulcastiel.tumblr.com)


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